I Would Be So Happy
by BreakfastWithBlockhead
Summary: Bebe and Clyde have been on again, off again since elementary school. Craig is Clyde's roommate and an antisocial asshole. A turbulent love triangle ensues and Craig discovers that sometimes it's possible to only really meet someone after having known them for years.
1. Froot Loops

**A/N  
**

**So I feel like I should add a disclaimer here that I'm casting Craig in the way he's most commonly depicted as being in fanfictions, as kind of grouchy and introverted (like he seems to be in the Pandemic episodes, as opposed to some of the later ones). **

**I know it's something of an exaggeration of his character but I think it's awesome so it's what I'm going with for this story. And of course Bebe and Clyde are relatively minor characters, so I took some liberties with their personalities as well. I wanted to have some creative freedom for my first South Park piece while I "find my groove," so to speak. Anyway, enjoy the story! **

**...**

Craig turned the already blaring music coming through his headphones up louder. Loud enough to just barely drown out the giggles and moans that were coming from outside his bedroom door. He heard a grunt. "Oh yeah, babe." Fucking Clyde. Then a moan. Fucking Bebe. This wasn't the first time the couple was hooking up in the living room of the apartment the boys shared, but it was definitely one of the loudest. Probably given the fact that both of them were more or less wasted. He'd come home from his evening shift at the Taco Bell in the mall food court to find them snuggling on the couch amidst a forest of empty beer bottles. _Great, _he had thought, _they must be back together again._ Their make-up sex was loud, their drunk sex was louder, and Craig supposed the combination of the two factors explained the volume of the situation occurring outside his room right now.

His thoughts were interrupted when Clyde burst through his door, brown hair sticking up around his boyish face, shirt skewed and unabashedly displaying a large bulge in the crotch of his jeans. Craig merely glared at his roommate who seemed to be unaware of Craig's annoyance in his obliviously happy, drunken state. Clyde's mouth was moving but Craig's music was still too loud to make out the words. Clyde motioned for him to remove his headphones and Craig grudgingly obliged with a sigh of frustration.

"What."

Clyde swayed a little, sauntering over to the side of Craig's bed where the annoyed boy was sitting. "Hey Man," Clyde said with a dopey grin, suggestively waggling his eyebrows up and down, "you got any condoms in here?" Craig rolled his eyes and pointed to the top drawer of his bedside table. Clyde yanked it open, managing to detach the entire drawer from its slot and send its contents flying across the room. "Pffffftttthahahha," he cracked up into stifled laughter. Craig, on the other hand, was not quite so amused. "Sorry dude," Clyde giggled obnoxiously, noting his friend's frown and trying without success to contain himself. He bent to pick up the miscellaneous objects. Craig closed his eyes in an attempt to subdue his steadily rising temper and shook his head. "Leave." He said pointedly, reaching over to grab a condom off the floor and tossing it at Clyde who managed to drop it twice before finally securing it in his bumbling grasp. "You're the best!" Clyde grinned before running out of the room, oblivious to the middle finger that was raised to his back.

Craig sighed with irritation and rose to close the door to his bedroom which his friend had inconsiderately left wide open in his hurry to go back to Bebe's fucking vagina. Thankfully, he heard the door to Clyde's room slam shut as well and concluded that they'd moved their little pervert party out of the living room. He began picking up the items that had fallen from the drawer. Mostly old papers, useless knick knacks, a bag of weed, a pipe, and of course, the condoms. The ones he hasn't needed in, what? Months? To say Craig was having a dry spell would be something of an understatement. His dry spell had lasted the better part of 22 years, to be exact, with the exception of one very drunken, very sloppy incident on prom night with Sally Darson that lasted a total of three minutes and another at the beginning of this year's school term with a stranger which, to be honest he'd been too drunk to remember at all. Though he was not technically a virgin, Craig felt like he might as well be. It was now the beginning of December and he had barely even spoken to a female all week, except for fellow employees and customers at his work, which hardly counted because, you know, it was sort of part of his job and everything.

It wasn't that Craig was ugly or anything. He had sharp but attractive features, hair that was silkier than it should haven been considering how little care he took of it (which is to say none at all), and olive skin that would probably have the ability to tan nicely if he ever actually left his room and went out in the sunlight once in a while. He was a bit on the scrawny side because his favourite activities were more or less limited to sleeping, smoking pot, watching TV and coming up with new reasons to hate the human race. Craig's physical features came together nicely, though, and on the few occasions that Clyde managed to forcibly drag Craig out to a bar it wasn't unlikely for girls to approach him. No, Craig knew he wasn't bad looking. He was just an asshole. A huge, insufferable and unchangeable asshole. Sure, girls approached him but it usually took a maximum of ten minutes before he had scared them off with his sullen demeanour and running cynical commentary, leaving Clyde to pout and shake his head in disappointment, urging Craig to "_try to be less of an ogre next time, dude_." But Craig didn't like most people and the feeling seemed to be mutual. He wondered if it was possible to be allergic to social interaction.

The only person who put up whole heartedly with the fact that Craig behaved like a crotchety old man was Clyde, but he assumed this was just because Clyde was too good natured to hate anybody and also happened to have enough liveliness for both of them. They'd been best friends since they were kids, and somehow, rather than tearing them apart, their differences had ended up balancing each other out. It was for this reason that Craig continued living with Clyde. Yes, Clyde was a slob. His room was a pig stye and he was so clumsy that he seemed to leave a trail of destruction behind him wherever he went. But lucky for Clyde, Craig was anal as fuck. His room sterile and pristine, and he didn't mind cleaning up after his friend if it meant avoiding a roach infestation in the future. Clyde was also, despite his messy nature, one of the few people who could genuinely make Craig laugh and smile, rousing him temporarily from his disdain for the world and the people who inhabited it. Clyde often could be annoying as hell and too sensitive for Craig's taste, but deep down, he was a good person. That is, when he wasn't loudly dry humping Bebe in the living room like he had been doing earlier.

Bebe and Clyde have been together off and on since elementary school, frequently breaking up, making up, then having noisy sex and noisier fights almost like clockwork. Clyde was a somewhat different person in both stages and to be honest, Craig couldn't tell which version of Clyde got on his nerves more. There was single Clyde, who after a breakup would find a bar in matter of minutes, drink an inhuman amount of alcohol, try to fuck any girl with a beating heart, and then ultimately come back to the apartment puking and crying all over himself like an oversized baby. And then there was relationship Clyde who, as could be observed today, had sex with Bebe anywhere and everywhere, pretty much constantly and wore a smile so blissful that it bothered Craig to the core.

It wasn't so much that he didn't like Bebe. She'd been something of a fixture in his life since he was in grade school and she was regularly attached to Clyde at the hip. She was alright. Nice enough, smarter than a lot of the girls at their school, and she appreciated a good dirty joke just as much as him and Clyde. She was too peppy for his tastes but she had huge tits and even if Craig was an asshole he was still a 22 year old male and therefore had a firm appreciation for a nice rack. She was even nicer to Craig than a lot of the other people he knew, never seeming to mind his blunt ways and dour temperament. Clyde could do a lot worse than Bebe and she was definitely less irritating than the rebound girls he brought home when they were broken up. (She had also, on more than one occasion, brought him weed as a peace offering in an attempt to win him over, so that helped his opinion of her too.) Bebe was an alright person, just like Clyde was.

It was more that he didn't like them together. All they ever did was bang or argue. Even when they were dating, they argued almost as much as (if not more) than they fucked and as much as Craig didn't enjoy hearing the sound of moaning and skin slapping on skin, the sound of them shouting at each other was also pretty Goddamn annoying. Craig was no dating expert but he had his doubts as to whether or not a relationship could survive on sex alone. Sometimes Craig wondered what kept them crawling back to each other, aside from the sex. Then again who knows, maybe it _was_ just the sex and in either case, not understanding the logistics of whatever weird-ass inner workings were at play in their relationship was no skin off Craig's back so fuck it.

He reached over into the table beside his desk, pulling out his weed stash and filling the bowl of his pipe. Who said Craig Tucker didn't know how to have fun? He leisurely took hits off the pipe feeling his earlier frustrations with Clyde leaving his body with every exhale of smoke. It was dark out and he looked over at his clock. It was only 12. Too early to go to bed, so he opened his laptop and put on Red Racer. It was his favourite show as a kid and he still watched it to unwind sometimes, even though he was now in college. He'd only gotten through an episode and a half when he heard a knock at the door.

"Yeah what," Craig muttered, not taking his eyes of the screen. The door opened and Clyde was standing in the frame. "It smells like weed in here." He stated, the implied question obvious. "Go ahead," Craig answered, brushing the pipe and bag across the bedspread in Clyde's direction. Clyde made his way over and picked it up, packing a bowl and then sprawling out on the bed. "Bebe's alseep," He explained.

"I'll alert the media," Craig dead panned sarcastically, eyes still fixed on the screen. Clyde slammed the laptop shut and Craig glared. "Pay attention to me," Clyde whined, dragging out the last syllable and punctuating the sentence by taking a hit off the pipe. "Go bother Bebe," Craig snorted, "since you guys are clearly back together now." Clyde just laughed and took another hit so Craig continued, "Seriously if I had a dollar for every time you guys broke up and got back together again I would put all three hundred of the damn coins in a pillowcase and hit your bipolar dick with it until you made up your mind." Clyde grew silent for a moment, as if deep in thought, then smiled and spoke up. "Dude she's so good in bed! I missed it."

"Stop," Craig groaned.

"She does this thing with her tongue-"

"Stop," Craig repeated, making a face. Clyde was like his brother and the sort of things a girl's tongue did to him was not something he wanted to hear about.

"We should find you a chick!" Clyde smiled enthusiastically, as if that would solve Craig's unwillingness to listen to the thrilling tales of his sexual escapades.

"No."

"Why not!"

"We've been over this." Craig sighed, sounding tired of the subject. "Oh come on, you're not that bad!" Clyde pleaded, "I'll bet we can find you a girl who loves sulking in her room and listening to angsty music just as much as you." Craig didn't answer. "It would be fun!" Clyde went on, "You guys could plot to murder everyone who gets on your nerves, so like, basically the whole population, and then get too high to carry out your plan and have stoned lazy sex instead. I think it would be really good for you," he added wisely

This made Craig smile in spite of himself. Regardless of the exaggeration, he had to admit Clyde knew him well. "Go to bed, dick." Craig said. "As a matter of fact I think he will," Clyde replied with a wink, motioning at his crotch, "he's had an exhausting night."

"Gross."

"Sleep well, you old grouch," Clyde laughed, leaving the room.

"You too," Craig replied, re-opening his laptop and continuing the show.

...

Craig was awoken the next morning by the sound of a crash coming from the kitchen. Fucking Clyde. He jumped out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt and ran to the door nearly tripping over the bottoms of his navy blue plaid pyjama pants. However when he reached the kitchen, instead of Clyde he saw Bebe, already dressed, on her hands and knees facing away from him and picking up the broken shards of a glass bowl.

"Oh." Said Craig uncomfortably.

Bebe jumped up and whirled around. "Shit! Oh, hey Craig. I'm just getting some cereal. Or at least I was…" She trailed off, looking down at the remaining pieces of glass on the floor. Craig rolled his eyes. Apparently Clyde's clumsiness was contagious. However, he could see the hangover etched on her face and took pity on her, removing the large glass pieces from her hands and picking the rest up off the floor and disposing of them in the garbage. Like he said, Bebe was alright when she wasn't having a screaming match with his best friend in the middle of the night or even worse, straddling Clyde in some obscene manner in front of him. Craig wasn't a total ogre, and he'd prove it. He motioned for Bebe to sit down and opened the cupboard.

"Froot Loops or," Craig scrunched his face in disgust, "Raisin Bran?" Why the fuck did they have Raisin Bran? Last time he checked he was only an 70 year old man _mental _sort of way not _physically_, and he was pretty sure his bowels had no need for some nasty healthy high fibre breakfast cereal. Not yet, anyway.

Bebe laughed at his scandalized reaction. "Froot Loops, please," she replied. Craig nodded and purposefully took a _plastic_ bowl from above, shooting her a derisive (but not entirely cruel) look.

"Unfortunately we don't have any sippy cups," Craig smirked, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Ugh, Shut up!" Bebe cried. "I'm hungover and it's early." Her face softened. "And besides, you can't really expect me to believe you're put off by a bit of mess," she said, quirking an arched brow, "you live with fucking Clyde Donovan of all people."

Craig supposed what she was saying was true. Clyde was a something of a man-child. He glanced at the clock above the stove. 9:04. Shit, she was right. It was early. He poured milk into the bowl, took a spoon from the drawer next to the fridge and set the bowl in front of her with insolent _clack_. At least he could still get a few more hours of sleep before he was due in for his next shift at work, provided his roommate's girlfriend could manage not to break a plastic bowl. "If you want coffee, go to Harbucks or something. Tweek got us our coffeemaker as a house warming gift and I'd hate for it to die by your violent, kitchenware murdering hands," He taunted in his usual nasally, monotone voice as he headed back to his room.

"Let it go already!" Bebe grumbled through a mouthful of cereal. But it was hard to be annoyed by Craig's teasing when there were these Goddamn heavenly explosions of refined sugar in her mouth. She hadn't had Froot Loops in ages. Truth be told, the Raisin Bran was hers. Clyde bought it for her to eat on mornings when she had stayed overnight. She'd complained one too many times that refined sugar made her break out and went straight to her ass (not that Clyde would ever mind that), but when Craig had mocked her Raisin Bran, she did what she always felt the inexplicably need to do: win him over. Even if it was just by eating his Froot Loops.

Ever since they were kids in elementary school Bebe had felt admiration for Craig. At the time, she'd diagnosed it as a crush. He was always so mature and composed compared to the other boys in their grade. In fact, it was to get closer to Craig that she'd first began hanging out with Clyde all those years ago. In elementary school her relationship with Clyde had been based off manipulation and selfishness (on her part, at least). Bebe recalled a situation including Clyde, a list ranking the attractiveness of the boys in their grade and her love for shoes. She still smiled in amusement when she thought back to her "break-up" with Kyle and his hot ass after she had kissed him in Stan's clubhouse. She told him that she felt trapped, that she couldn't go on with their codependency, only moments before walking away with Clyde. If only she'd known how it felt to _really_ be trapped, and how codependent her relationship with Clyde would become. If only she'd known how little interest Craig would have in her, even with her hanging around him and his friends as much as possible. Her 9 year old self spent many long nights pining after Craig. However, soon her crush faded and only the stubborn admiration was left. She had a puzzling respect for Craig that didn't seem to want to go away, and above all, she wanted him to respect her. However, Bebe quickly grew out of her manipulative stage and started to love Clyde and despite how difficult their relationship has been, she doesn't regret any of it.

The first thing that drew her to him (genuinely drew her to him, not just his closeness to Craig) was his graceless, good-hearted charm. She loved the way he felt things so strongly, both the good and the bad and she had truly enjoyed their time together throughout middle school and high school. It was a rare thing to find such a sensitive boyfriend in those days, and it was one of the main factors that caused her to stay with him beyond her plot to get Craig to like her. In their junior year of high school she told Clyde about how she had, when they were children, only picked up with him to get closer to his best friend. They both laughed hysterically at the ridiculousness of the situation, that anyone could have a crush on Cranky Old Craig, but deep down, Bebe knew that someone _had_ had a crush on Craig. Her. Nevertheless, she and Clyde shared some wonderful times in those years. They would get high between classes, and made out by Stark's Pond. One time they teepee'd Eric Cartman's house in toilet paper in the middle of the night. Clyde took her virginity when they were 15 and she'll never forget how sweet he was about it, stopping constantly to make sure she was okay. She had been so in love with him.

But as their class graduated high school and entered college, Bebe matured while Clyde did not. Halfway through their first year she began wanting something more from the relationship. The arguments that had led to their many breakups in secondary school over stupid things like what movies to see or who was flirting with who to make the other jealous morphed into the uglier fights that plagued their relationship now. Fights based on bigger issues like guilt and incompatibility. Bebe felt smothered, Clyde felt abandoned. Sometimes she felt more like his mother or his therapist than his girlfriend, and due to his sensitive nature, he took her feelings to heart. The trouble was that she _did_ care about him. A lot. Maybe too much and maybe that was the problem. She just didn't care about him in the same way that she used to and she frequently worried that he wanted more from her emotionally than she had to give. Sure, they'd gotten back together yesterday, but it wasn't because she was in love with him. It was because she cared about his feelings so much that she felt like she had no other choice. Clyde held more complexities than met the eye. There was something more grim underneath his merry exterior.

Bebe's thoughts were interrupted when she heard her boyfriend stirring in his bedroom. A few minutes later he appeared in the kitchen wearing only his boxers as she spooned the last of the Froot Loops into her mouth. "Babe," He grinned cheerily, "You're up early!" Bebe smiled back but was chewing and didn't reply. "And you're eating Froot Loops?! It's like I don't even know you anymore!" He frowned dramatically, taking the bowl of coloured milk from her hands and slurping it audibly. The unintended meaning of his statement hit her hard but she forced a chuckle.

"You're so refined, hon," She said sarcastically, eyeing his unmannerly actions. "Craig forbid me from touching your precious coffeemaker, by the way, so how's about you brew us up a pot? I have a killer headache." She tucked her frizzy blonde curls behind her ears and massaged her temples.

Clyde looked confused. "He forbid you from using it?"

"I broke a bowl this morning so now he thinks I'm some kind of jinx," Bebe shrugged with a lopsided smile, raising her brows.

Now it was Clyde's turn to laugh. "Oh God, typical Craig. I wonder how expensive it would be to surgically remove the stick up his ass."

"A stick that size, I'd say at least a few thousand," Bebe joked solemly.

Clyde howled at that as he set about making the coffee. "You're so bitchin', Babe," He said with a lazy grin, "I love you."

"I love you too, Clyde," Bebe returned, meeting his gaze. That was the one certain thing about a relationship like theirs: they'd broken up and gotten back together so many times that whenever they did reconcile, things went completely back to normal, at least until the next inevitable fall out. And they both knew there would always be another. They stopped vowing to each other that "_this will be the last time we break up for sure, I mean it this time_" way back in grade 10, having decided instead to bravely accept the tumultuous nature of their relationship and their need for time apart.

The only thing that didn't get easier were the fights themselves. They were awful, bitter, ruthless fights. Everything was fair game. The emotions they suppressed during their time together all boiled over, resulting in both of them saying terrible things, the worst things. Both things that they did mean and things that they didn't mean. Things that were true and things that were spiteful lies. Sometimes Bebe wondered which ones did the most harm. The sick part was that when they were fighting Bebe wanted to hurt Clyde as much as she could, and she could tell he felt the same. They resented each other, in a way. Bebe resented the way that they always ended up back together. She resented it because she knew that it was guilt, not love that brought her back. She resented that she couldn't tell what brought Clyde back. She knew that he needed her and she even knew why to an extent but she didn't understand, she supposed, why he needed _her _specifically. Surely he could find the emotional support he needed elsewhere, but he chose to deposit his feelings on her and she didn't know why and she hated that he would never open up enough to explain.

Bebe felt a hand on her shoulder. "Huh?"

"I said the coffee's ready," Clyde said. He had a strange look on his face and for a horrifying moment Bebe worried that he knew what she was thinking about.

"Thanks," She said with a small smile, dismissing the idea. She took the mug that was being offered to her and sipped gently, testing the temperature. Clyde, as usual, had put in just the right amount of cream to make the coffee cool enough to drink but not cool enough to be unappetizing. It was a shame, she thought, the way that he knew the exact temperature to make her coffee but was unable to figure out how to make her happy.

Bebe's thoughts churned, only half listening while Clyde stuttered, struggling to remember a joke Token had told him that he'd found particularly funny. He kept forgetting how it went so by the time they finished their coffee they were sitting in silence, Clyde having finally given up. "I'm gonna head home," Bebe said rising.

"I'll walk you down!" Clyde offered, jumping out of his chair but Bebe shook her head.

"I'll be fine, Dad," Bebe smiled, rolling her eyes. Clyde might have looked just the slightest bit pained as she walked out of the kitchen, but she couldn't tell for sure.

The cold air stung Bebe's face as she stepped out onto the street and headed in the direction of the apartment she shared with Wendy, wishing that she'd taken her car. She loved Clyde a lot and cared about him so much that it hurt but it was getting harder to pretend that she was _in _love with him. It wouldn't be such a problem if the disconnect between loving someone and being in love with someone wasn't so vast, but romantic love begged a level of responsibly and selflessness that now felt more like a burden than a gift. She often wondered if he was even in love with _her _anymore, or if he just didn't know they could be any different. They'd been together a long time and maybe he was afraid to rock the boat just like her. She quickened her pace, wanting to leave the troubling situation behind.


	2. Taco Hell

Craig's alarm went off at noon, just barely giving him enough time to shower and eat before his shift at Taco Bell began. He groaned into his pillow. Waking up before 3 pm was hard enough as it is was without already having been woken up once because fucking Bebe decided to eradicate his dishes at nine in the fucking morning. What was even worse was that he could, technically, still have been asleep right now if he hadn't made the retarded choice of picking up extra hours of work during his winter break. Minimum wage was hardly worth spending hours of his free time on end assembling burritos and cooking french fries. But at least he'd found a job where he could work more or less alone and didn't have to smile at or be polite to anyone. It would take two hands to count the number of jobs he'd been fired from for being rude to people. He'd spent a lot of time in the principle's office as a kid, and his knack for getting in trouble had followed him into adulthood. But at Taco Bell he could at least scowl at the tortilla shells in peace and had worked there long enough that his fellow employees knew to steer clear of him unless the situation absolutely called for it. Even the ever friendly Butters, who worked as a cashier there had given up on trying to initiate conversation with him for the most part.

He grudgingly threw off his covers and grabbed his work uniform before stumbling out of his room towards the bathroom that he and Clyde shared. He locked the door behind him, even though Clyde had already left the apartment to go to his own job. Clyde worked at the concession stand of the movie theatre down the block and wouldn't be back for hours, but always locking the door was a habit of Craig's. He valued privacy above all else. He quickly undressed, giving his angular body a brief once over in the mirror. He looked like a praying mantis, he thought as he stepped in to the shower, long limbed and gawky. Why couldn't he be a praying mantis? No one bothered them. They could just kill smaller bugs and sit around on leaves all day. The American dream. Craig shook the bizzare thought from his head. This was what happened when he didn't get enough sleep. He ran a hand over the short stubble that was growing on his face, briefly considering shaving before he decided,_ fuck it_. That was Craig's attitude towards most things: Fuck it.

The hot water felt good on his back, slowly waking him up and washing off the day old smell of fried food and mexican spices from last night's shift. He hadn't showered when he'd gotten home because why would he? He had no one to impress and that was the way he liked it. True, Craig needed cleanliness when it came to clutter in his room or Clyde's many spills in the kitchen but he bothered less with his own personal hygiene. If people were put off by the scent of tacos that often hung on him then they were more than welcome to remove themselves from his presence. In fact, he'd be thrilled if they did. It would save him the trouble of driving them away personally. All people did, Craig had learned, was make a mess of the meticulously planned out life he had spent so long trying to implement. He was in his second year of studying to be a mechanical engineer. When he graduated he would get a job where he could design machinery, appliances, computers, anything really. He liked numbers and mathematical theories and programming. They made sense and they were never muddled by bothersome things like emotions or interpretation. Craig would be happy so long as he had his own office and communication with his coworkers was not mandatory. He would buy his own place and maybe a guinea pig or two for company and enjoy solitude for the rest of his life.

Clyde on the other hand was in a kinesiology program, hoping to one day become a gym teacher. The very idea of such a career turned Craig's stomach: screaming children, physical activity, low income and small talk in the teachers lounge. Awful. It would be Craig's very own personal hell, but he knew it would suit Clyde well. Bebe wanted to be a geriatric nurse. Maybe that explained her willingness to put up with him. She was practicing her tolerance for grumpy assholes with bad tempers. He half smiled at that. Congratulations to Bebe for being the first, and this far only, female who had stood for Craig's ways this long. He supposed it made sense that the two only people who were charitable enough to like him were dating each other.

When he was done washing his hair, Craig glanced at the clock on the bathroom wall, wondering if he had time to jack off before work. It was only about 12:15, so he braced himself against the shower wall and allowed a hand to slip down south. _Fuck. _He hadn't had time to do this for a few days and it wasn't until just now that he realized how much he needed it. He stroked himself and thought of Scarlett Johansson in _The Avengers _and Lara Croft's boobs. His skin was warm and soft, reactive to every single movement of his hand. This was the only time he became completely unhinged, giving in to his carnal, human needs. Composed Craig was gone, and in his place was a foreign being, gasping and humping into his own hand. His breath caught when he sped up his pace, head falling back against the tiles. Soon he was panting and rolling his hips forward to meet his fist, strangled grunts barely escaping his parted lips with each thrust. "Aaaahhhhh!" He finally cried, eyes scrunching shut. "Fuck," He moaned, trying to calm his breathing. He splashed water against the mess he'd left until that last of it had washed down the drain before shutting off the shower head and drying himself.

Craig sighed contentedly. Nothing like starting the day off right with some good old fashioned self love. He slid into his work uniform and walked into the kitchen to get breakfast, ruffling his hair on the way to rid it of any excess water droplets. He opened the cupboard, reaching for the Froot Loops but when he peered inside the box, it was nearly empty with less than half a serving left in the inner plastic bag. Craig frowned. There had still been a decent amount left when he'd fed Bebe this morning which must mean that Clyde The Bottomless Pit finished it off before he left, the fucking pig, and then put the empty box back into the cupboard. Classic Clyde. He was the type of person who never changed the roll of toilet paper either. Craig grumbled, this time pulling down the box of Raisin Bran. _Ugh. _He fixed himself a bowl and ate standing up, sullenly sponging the bland cereal into his mouth like a disgruntled child.

...

The ride on the public bus to the mall where Craig worked was mercifully short, and he even managed to arrive a few minutes early for his shift, a true rarity. "Craig!" He heard his name called as he was punching in and his body tensed up. "Craig I'm so glad you're here!" He turned around to face Mrs. Allen, his manager, a large woman in her 40s. She looked flustered, short hair frizzed around her face and she was breathing heavily. "Kevin called in sick this morning and I couldn't find anyone to cover for him in time! I need you to take his place, we've been swamped all day and the lunch rush is coming!"

Craig stared. "But I work in the back. Kevin works in the front."

"Yes he does, and it's a very important job which is why I need someone to stand in for him today. The other boys in the back will manage without you, now go!" She urged hurriedly, as if made anxious by the time he was wasting talking to her. She ushered him towards the cash registers.

"I don't even know how to use one of these things," Craig protested lamely. No way in HELL was he going to work at the front where all the customers were. This was not what he signed up for.

"Leopold will help you figure it out. It's really not that hard Craig. Hurry up!" She demanded, her patience spent, giving him a final push towards the front counter which was crowded with people. Butters looked even more distressed than Mrs. Allen had and glanced over at Craig gratefully.

"Oh uh, hey Craig," he began nervously, "sorry that you gotta work up h-here today." The expression on Craig's features was blank but his eyes burned with irritation. "It's real easy, though, I swear!" Butters insisted, attempting to put on a smile in the presence of the ever intimidating Craig Tucker. "There's just ah, there are these buttons for each order number an' y-you just press 'em an' it all adds up f-f-for you," he finished, looking down at his feet.

"EY!" Cried an impatient voice. It sent an angry shiver up Craig's spine. _No. There was no way his luck was this bad…_ he looked away from Butters to find Eric Cartman standing in front of his register, fat arms crossed over his beefy chest surrounded by Stan, Kyle and Kenny. This was the last fucking thing he needed.

"What's your problem fat-ass?" He glowered at Cartman, crossing his own arms.

"Hey you can't talk to me like that! I'm the customer!" He looked self-satisfied as he smirked down at Craig. "Don't make me get your manager you Goddamn butt-pirate!"

_Actually, _thought Craig, _Cartman getting him in shit with his manager was the last thing he needed. _He took a breath. "Butters was just showing me how to use the register." He was impressed with his own calmness and uncrossed his arms.

"Well Fag Tucker, if you're done sucking Butters balls over nyah then I'd like some GODDAMN TACOS!"

Craig rolled his eyes."Like you need them," he muttered under his breath, just quiet enough for Cartman not to hear. "And for your friends?" At least the rest of them had the decency to look embarrassed on behalf of Cartman, with Kyle even offering a "_shut up, fat-ass_." However, Craig still held a small grudge on them for that time they took all his birthday money and got him sent to Peru when they were kids.

They all (with the exception of Cartman) placed simple ordered and luckily Craig was able to work the machine properly. Butters had been right, it was pretty easy. What wouldn't be easy would be dealing with all the other brainless morons who were bound to come in, too lazy to make their own lunch and therefore resorting to eating at Taco Bell and purchasing the revolting slop that was being passed off as food.

...

Craig was relieved when business finally slowed down around three o'clock and he and Butters were left standing in silence, with the exception of the odd customer or two coming by.

"Loo loo loo I've got some apples, loo loo loo you've got some too," Butters began singing softly until Craig looked over, giving him a dirty look. Butters caught his eye and stopped mid sentence. Looking almost afraid, he cleared his throat and fiddled with his hands. The quiet only lasted for a few minutes before Butters began humming, this time even lower.

"Hmm hmm hmm I've got some app-"

"Stotch, shut the fuck up!" Craig barked, exasperated.

Butters looked like he was going to cry. "Oh hamburgers, I-I'm sorry C-C-Craig. I didn't m-mean to upset you," he wavered.

"Just-" Craig sighed, almost feeling bad. Butters was pretty harmless, and of course he hadn't meant to upset Craig. He was just being himself, cheerful fucking Butters. "Just don't sing, okay?"

Butters nodded.

More silence, then a few more customers.

Then, "Hey Craig?"

"What."

"Why're you so a-angry all the time?" Butters asked, huge childlike eyes fixed on him questioningly.

"I'm not angry," Craig answered. This was a lie.

"But then why're you always yellin' an' frownin' all the time an' stuff?"

Craig searched Butters' face, and as was frustratingly often the case with him, found nothing other than kindness and well intentioned curiosity. Nothing to attack. It was hard to be mean to Butters, it was like kicking a puppy or stepping on a delicate flower or some shit. _Did I really just compare Butters to a delicate flower? _Craig inwardly shook his head. He would have to start going to bed earlier. His over-tiredness was making him think of strange things. He fought the reflex to lash out, and instead attempted what was probably a very feeble and unconvincing smile.

"I'm not." A lie.

"It's okay if you d-don't wanna talk about it or nothin'," Butters stammered quickly, careful not to offend Craig again. "I just know that when I'm sad it helps to t-t-talk."

"I'm not sad, Butters," Craig said testily. A therapy session, he decided, was also not something that he had signed up for today. Butters looked at him dubiously, with what appeared to be pity in his eyes. Craig hated pity. "I'm not sad and I'm not angry. I just like being alone," he justified, sharper than he'd intended. "I like peace and quiet and solitude and not having to talk to snivelling little dicks like you who feel like they have the right to pester me about my perceived unhappiness!" Craig's voice had risen to a yell by the time he finished his rant, and unfortunately, this factor probably somewhat undermined the point he was trying to make.

Butters looked stunned, whether by the harshness of the words directed at him or just that fact that Craig had said so many words to him at once, Craig could not tell. Then Butters spoke up, sounding surprisingly sure of himself. "Are you alone 'cause you like bein' alone or 'cause you feel like you gotta be alone?"

Craig whirled around so abruptly that Butters jumped back with fright. Craig's face could be scarily expressive when he wanted it to be, and this was one of those rare times. He stared Butters dead in the eye, aware that his look was radiating animosity. "Listen here Butters-" He began, in a low growl before being interrupted by the sound of someone timidly clearing their throat from behind him.

He turned around to see a small elderly man worriedly standing in front of the counter. "Is everything alright here, boys?"

Craig grinned, if you could call it that. A nasty, sarcastic grin that resembled a snarl more than anything else. "Everything," he stated, heading away from the counter, "is fucking GREAT!" He slammed the door at the back of the establishment behind him, realizing he had left behind his coat but was now too worked up to care about the snowflakes that were falling on his bare arms. Who the fuck did Butters think he was? Craig knew himself. He enjoyed being alone, he didn't like people, and that was that. His conversation with Butters just served as further proof. People were nosy and annoying and thought they had the right to _know_ Craig. They thought he owed them his words, his time, his feelings. He didn't owe anything to anyone.

He stormed down the street towards the bus stop even though his shift still didn't end for a few more hours. Screw work. He might get fired, but whatever. He hated it there anyway. Besides, getting fired was a commonplace occurrence for Craig and one more time would make no difference. It probably would have been only a matter of time before he shot his mouth off at a customer and got himself in trouble anyway.

...

Wendy was on the couch reading a book when Bebe stepped into their apartment the morning after her night with Clyde. The dark haired girl quickly set down the book and eyed her friend with teasing suspicion. "Did someone have a good night? I was expecting you back yesterday."

Bebe groaned. "Shit, sorry. I forgot to text you. I stayed at Clyde's."

"I gather you two have been reunited once again, then?" Wendy asked knowingly. Wendy was the only one who knew the extent of the private struggles she faced in her relationship.

"Yeah," Bebe sighed simply, sinking into the couch beside her best friend.

Wendy became serious, putting a comforting arm around Bebe and stroking her hair. She looked worried. "It's not good for you, this thing you have with Clyde. Every time you get back together with him you look a little worse."

"You think I don't know that? I don't just look worse. I am worse. I feel awful and there's nothing I can do about it." Bebe seemed to deflate as the words left her mouth.

"You know what you have to do, Bebe."

"I can't," Bebe said, staring at the blank wall in front of her with tired eyes. "He needs me."

"_You_ need you," Wendy argued, brimming with businesslike tough love as always. "I know that Clyde is going through some things but you have to take care of yourself once in a while. His problems aren't going to go away no matter how much effort you put into supporting him. Is this really how you want to spend the rest of your life? You're miserable and things aren't just going to get better. You need to realize that."

Bebe remained silent because Wendy was right. She often was.

"Want a drink?" Wendy offered, mercifully letting the subject drop. She'd said her piece, and now it was up to Bebe to decide what to do.

"It's like... 10:30 am," Bebe said, scrunching her facial features.

"Come on, we used to get day drunk all the time last year! Don't tell me you've gone soft. You used to be able to drink me under the table, day or night!" Wendy exclaimed, very aware she was directly appealing to Bebe's competitive spirit.

Bebe laughed, taking the bait. "Oh alright," she gave in, "I guess I could use it right now."

But by the time she finished speaking, Wendy was already up off the couch and halfway to the kitchen. She soon returned with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. She filled them to the top and handed one to Bebe who took it gratefully, immediately drinking it in large gulps. Wendy smiled, sipping her own and playing with one of Bebe's curls.

"You know what I was thinking about yesterday?" She laughed, releasing the curl.

"What?" Asked Bebe curiously.

"That time Butters dressed up like a girl to get into our sleepover when we were kids."

"Oh my god!" Bebe cried, the memory coming back to her. "He started crying because we were mean to him so we gave him a makeover to cheer him up."

Wendy grinned. "He had some of the longest eyelashes I've ever seen, the lucky bastard. I'd kill for a set like those."

Bebe nodded her agreement. "Remember when my boobs started to grow in the fourth grade, way before anyone else's? You were so jealous!" She giggled, nudging her friend in the arm playfully. Wendy turned red at how silly she'd acted, shaking her head with embarrassment.

The girls spent almost an hour trading "do you remember" stories from their childhood and drinking. Soon, the bottle was empty and they reclined on the couch with satisfied smiles.

"Craig Tucker made me breakfast this morning," Bebe said out of the blue, wrinkling her face in confusion at the memory.

Wendy sat up straight. "Craig?" She sounded equally perplexed. "That's so weird."

"Well I mean I broke a bowl so I guess he didn't trust me to do it myself," she said rolling her eyes. "I guess he wanted to protect his stuff or something or maybe he noticed I had a hangover and was trying be helpful. I don't know, though, that doesn't seem too likely. But still, it's so fucking strange when he does anything remotely nice. I don't understand it."

Wendy raised her eyebrows. "What's really weird is how hung up you are on it. You're not usually one to over analyze stuff like this."

"What? No!" Bebe countered defensively. "It was just uncharacteristic of him. That's all."

"Admit it, you've always had a little crush on Craig." Wendy argued. Her tone was teasing but persistent.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago." Bebe brushed off the comment, trying to sound nonchalant but her voice didn't even sound convincing to herself. "I just... He's interesting. And strange," she tacked on, realizing that calling him interesting implied something she certainly didn't want to imply. She was dating Clyde, after all.

"You're hot for him," Wendy said bluntly. "I mean it's not like I blame you or anything. After dealing with Clyde's emotions for so long I bet that Craig-the-emotionally-devoid-robot is looking pretty good right about now."

Bebe tried to protest but Wendy cut her off, continuing, "He is kinda hot, in a weird, shut-in losery way," she laughed.

"Don't call him a loser," Bebe muttered almost inaudibly.

Wendy grinned at her like a Cheshire Cat. "Shit, you're really into him, aren't you!? And you don't even realize it," she gasped.

Bebe moaned into a pillow. "Did you get me drunk just so you could interrogate me about Craig?" She accused, frowning.

"You're the one who brought him up, oh intoxicated one. And I use that title lightly because you didn't even drink that much. You started talking about him by your own volition so don't even try to put that on me." She stuck her tongue out, adding, "And I didn't get you drunk so I could badger you about who you may or may not be secretly in love with. I got you drunk so I could have my way with you!" With that, Wendy giggled deviously and pounced on Bebe, tickling her friend unrelentingly until she shrieked with laughter.

The girls finally fell back, exhausted on the couch. "Thank you," Bebe said softly, looking up at the ceiling

"What for?"

"For being wise and perceptive and making me laugh when I feel like shit."

"That's why I'm here," Wendy replied, giving her friend's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Then her voice turned serious. "But I mean it about the Clyde/Craig situation. There's no way this is gonna end well. Be careful, okay?"

"I'm not going to leave Clyde for Craig," Bebe reassured her. "I don't even have feelings for him," she maintained, insistent on her stance. However, an unsettling feeling was settling in her gut and she worried that in spite of her good intentions, she might be lying, at least a little bit.

**A/N**

**I know the plot is progressing slowly, bear with me. I think that the set-up/build-up is an extremely important part of any story. But shit's gonna get real pretty soon so hang in there.**


	3. Borderline

"Craig, hey, Craig. Wake up man!"

Craig jerked into consciousness, disoriented and stiff. He was sprawled out on the couch in the living room and Clyde was standing above him, shaking his shoulder gently. "Huh?" Craig rubbed his eyes, frowning. "What time is it?"

"Dude, it's after 7 pm. Why aren't you at work?" Clyde asked with a concerned look. "Are you sick?"

Then it all came back to Craig: working at the front cash, fighting with Butters, storming out, coming home and immediately crashing on the couch. "No, I'm not sick." He groaned, though he felt a headache coming on just from thinking of all the shit he would have to explain when he went back to work. Provided he still had a job there, that was. "I just… left early," he said shortly.

"Yeah, I can see that. Why though?"

Craig didn't answer.

"Why?" Clyde repeated.

_The real question_, thought a still groggy and somewhat irritated Craig, _was why the hell Clyde cared. Couldn't he tell he didn't want to talk about it?_

"Because I fucking did."

With this, Clyde took the hint and headed in the direction of the kitchen, calling on his way, "I'm making ramen noodles, do you want some?"

"Yeah," Craig replied. "Thanks," he added after a few seconds, trying to dissolve the tension in the air. He reached for the remote and turned the TV on. One of those poorly acted and extremely predictable crime shows was playing and Craig was too lazy to look for anything better so he settled back into the couch, letting his eyes glaze over.

"You know Tweek's birthday is coming up this weekend, right?" He heard Clyde say from the kitchen.

Actually, Craig had completely forgotten until right this moment and it was already Thursday night. "Shit, you're right," he answered. Tweek had been his friend (or at least as close to a friend as anyone could be to Craig) since elementary school. Sure, he was kind of a spaz and his constant shrieks and grunts got on Craig's nerves, but like Clyde, his heart was in the right place, so Craig stood for his annoying mannerisms. "I totally forgot. I didn't get him anything."

Clyde appeared from the kitchen, standing in the doorway. "Water's heating up," he said. " And I forgot up until today too. But fear not, the Great Clyde Donovan has a plan!" He grinned. Craig raised his eyebrows in question. Clyde moved across the room and sat down next to him on the couch. "I was thinking that we could throw him a surprise party here or something. Get all of our friends from high school back together, get wasted, hide behind the furniture and jump out at him when he comes through the door, sing to him, the works!"

Craig looked at Clyde with disbelief. "You do realize this is Tweek we're talking about, right? Did you seriously just suggest a _surprise party_ for the most high-strung, paranoia filled kid we know? Come on, Clyde. That would give him a fucking heart attack." Craig rolled his eyes and Clyde looked insulted.

"It was just an idea, you don't have to be a dick about it."

"I'm not being a dick, I'm being helpful." _Why did people always get so goddamn offended when he tried to be helpful? _

"Well do you have anything better?" Clyde asked in an exasperated tone, standing up.

"No, but I definitely don't want a bunch _your _friends, that's right your friends, not _our_ friends, over here being loud and obnoxious. Has it really not crossed your mind that I hate everyone from our high school, and that maybe I don't want them all in my apartment?"

"You hate the whole world, Craig," Clyde said crossing his arms. "Why don't you just go build a fucking cabin in the woods and live there like the hermit you are and you won't have to stick around being an asshole to everyone anymore." Any remaining signs of friendliness on Clyde's face were long gone, and he had started shaking. _Oh for fuck's sake, what a baby, _thought Craig. _You couldn't say two words to the guy without him finding something to get offended about. _Clyde continued, sounding hurt. "I went to high school with you too, does that mean you hate _me_?! Cause it really fucking feels like it sometimes."

Craig rolled his eyes so far back in his head that he was afraid, for a second, they would fall out. "Are you serious, Clyde? Did you really just fucking ask me that? I know you aren't the brightest bulb in the box but you can't be that stupid," he scoffed. Clyde was the only person, literally the only person, that Craig had ever worked so hard to convince that he _didn't_ hate. And apparently it had all been for nothing. Clyde was too self absorbed to even notice. Yes, Clyde was his best friend, but he was so selfish. He was determined to be an oversensitive pussy and just expected everyone else to go along with it, tiptoeing around his feelings and trying to protect his delicate little heart. It seemed like he was always picking fights, accusing Craig of anything and everything. "I don't hate you, you shithead. It's not my fault that you take every single fucking word people say to heart and cry about the most trivial fucking things." _If anything, Clyde should thank him for being the only one on the planet who would tell him the truth, who would call him out when he was acting like a child._

Much to Clyde's dismay, he began bawling and ran into his room, slamming the door behind him. _Of course_ _Craig was lying about not hating him, _Clyde thought. _Obviously Craig hated him._ And he had every right to. Clyde knew he was sensitive, but knowing this didn't make it any easier on him. Clyde felt humiliated and abandoned and alone. He'd been so impossibly happy this morning. Getting back together with Bebe always gave him a euphoric optimism that felt almost like a drug. Things had been so wonderful and now they were crashing down because Craig hated him. His own best friend thought that he was a shithead. He hated feeling like this: happy one minute, in despair the next. His breath began coming in gasps. He had to call Bebe. He reached for his phone, pressing the speed dial key for her number. She picked up after a few rings, and after hearing only about five seconds of his heavy breathing and stifled sobs said she would be right over.

Clyde could just barely make out the sound of the water on the stove boiling over through his closed door. He put his head under his pillow and hoped that Bebe would arrive soon.

...

The water was boiling over. Craig ran into the kitchen, quickly removing the pot from the stove top and turning off the heat. The pungent burnt smell was already filling the air. _Fuck. _Who was he, Bebe? He and Clyde rarely fought this badly, and Craig had a sinking feeling that it might have been his fault on some level. His day at work had put him in a worse mood than usual, and this, coupled with Clyde's predisposition to having his feelings hurt, had resulted in a situation that left Craig feeling miserable. Not just miserable, but guilty too. Really fucking guilty. Without a doubt, Clyde was being ridiculous. But Craig was perfectly aware of how sensitive his friend was, and he should have known better than to snap at him. Still, Craig also shouldn't have to bear the burden of carefully considering every word that left his mouth in order to avoid sending Clyde into a fit of hysteria. _That was the problem,_ he supposed. _He was on one end of the emotional spectrum and Clyde was on the other. _Sure, most of the time their polar opposite characteristics balanced each other out. But when they clashed, they really clashed. Craig wasn't often one for feeling remorseful, so he knew that his guilt meant he had really fucked up.

He sighed, dumping the hot water out of the pot and putting it in the sink to cool. He wasn't hungry anymore. He tapped his fingers on the counter restlessly, listening for any noises coming out of Clyde's room. He could hear soft blubbering, and the occasional sniff. Craig groaned and returned to living room, placing himself back on the couch. He could stand hurting just about anyone but Clyde. This sucked. He tensely ran a hand through his hair, pushing away the longer strands that fell in front off his face. Then, a rare smile spread over his mouth. He had an idea. He took his cell phone from his pocket and called Token.

"Hey, Token," he said. "yeah, it's me…Look it's Tweek's birthday this weekend right?…Yeah, Clyde and I were thinking of throwing him a party at our apartment…No of course not a surprise party, dumb ass, do you think I'm mentally retarded?…Saturday night…Alright, I'll tell Tweek. You call everyone else…Because I don't have anyone's numbers saved…Because I hate them all…Okay good, thanks…Yeah, yeah, I owe you. See you on Saturday…Around 9?…Okay bye."

Craig rose from the couch feeling almost proud of himself. Yes, he'd been a huge dick to Clyde. But he'd made it up to him now right? If this didn't show he was sorry, nothing would. It was the greatest sacrifice he could think of. He went into his room and sat down at his desk, taking out a piece of paper and a pen. He began writing:

**To The Handsome and Esteemed Clyde Donovan:**

**You are hereby cordially invited to the distinguished birthday gala of Mr. Tweek Tweak, to take place this Saturday at 9pm.  
Intoxication is mandatory, however pants are not, as the event will be occurring within the confines of your very own living room.  
Copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and junk food will be available to you, courtesy of the lowly and humbled Craig Tucker as a means to ask your forgiveness for being such an ass-wipe during the affairs that transpired on Thursday evening. **

**Please RSVP to Craig's Bedroom with your desire to attend/not attend this exciting celebration. **

He smirked smugly and got up to slide the letter under Clyde's door. He returned to his room and was only there for a few minutes before he heard a knock. "Come in," he called, relieved that his actions had been successful. The door opened, revealing a beaming Clyde.

"You're such a fag, dude," Clyde chuckled, still clutching the paper.

Craig met his gaze and returned his smile. "Does this mean you're coming?"

"Of course I am," he grinned, walking to where Craig was seated and bending to smother him in a giant bear hug.

"Gross, fuck off," Craig laughed, helplessly fighting off the arms that were wrapped around him.

Then there was the sound of a doorbell ringing. "Shit," Clyde said, "that's Bebe. I called her to come over. Can you let her in? I really have to take a crap. Stall her!" He swiftly made his way out of Craig's room towards the bathroom.

"What am I, your personal butler?" Craig called after him. "I charge extra if you want me to wipe your ass when you're done!" He shook his head and went to the door. He opened it and greeted Bebe, nodding her into the apartment and offering her a seat on the couch.

"Hi Craig," she said distractedly, not sitting down. "Where's Clyde? Is he okay?"

"Ohhhh," Craig said with realization. "You got called in for emotional-clean-up-duty. He's fine. I cheered him up myself, the big baby."

Bebe kept her mouth shut, though she didn't like it when Craig talked that way. He had no idea about how bad Clyde could get, as Clyde never fully opened up to him for fear that he wouldn't understand (probably rightly so), and Craig was not the sort of person who would notice the extent of Clyde's emotional state on his own. "Where is he?" She persisted.

"He's uh, busy," Craig said with a pointed look in the direction of the bathroom.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Are you going to sit?"

Bebe sat, realizing that she was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room and attempted to smooth her hair. She had already been in her pyjamas when Clyde called, ready for a quiet night in with some chinese food and a good scary movie. But apparently in the time it took her to get dressed and drive over, Craig had managed to calm him down. She tried not to feel irritated by this, but somehow she was. She was almost jealous. It would have taken her twice as long to dry the last of Clyde's tears_. Why was she even here? _

"So we're having a birthday party for Tweek here this Saturday," Craig said, clearing his throat. "You should uh, come."

Bebe studied his face. He looked good in his own weird Craig-way. Though he was still in his work uniform and had circles under his eyes, his hair was glossy and the light caught his sharp cheekbones in a way that made him look almost handsome. And now he was inviting her to a party. Of course, as Clyde's girlfriend she would have been invited anyway. _Right. She was Clyde's girlfriend. Craig was Clyde's roommate._ Wendy's stupid theories were getting to her. "Yeah, that sounds fun. Do you guys need any help setting up? Or I could make a coffee cake or something?" Everybody in South Park knew of Tweek's coffee obsession.

"Actually a cake would be kind of great. Clyde and I managed to collectively burn water today, so…"

Bebe laughed. "Cake it is. And I never thanked you for the breakfast this morning. Sorry again about the bowl."

Craig squinted at her. "Yeah I really put myself out by pouring some cereal for you. And the bowl was like, three whole dollars. So you'd better make it up to me somehow." _Shit, _he thought. _That sounded much more suggestive than he had intended it to. _"I take cheques," he added quickly, trying to weaken what could have been interpreted as flirtation, but he could feel himself flushing a bit. _This was what happened when you never practice your social skills, Craig, _he thought to himself in annoyance.

"Who the fuck uses cheques?" Bebe asked, either ignoring or not picking up on the possible innuendo. She quirked an eyebrow. "How about I supply you with weed for the party and we'll call it even?"

"I suppose that will do," Craig replied, corners of his mouth raising ever so slightly, just as Clyde exited the washroom.

"Hi-ya, Babe!" He called, looking more or less recovered from his earlier episode and giving her a hug.

"Hi hon, glad you're feeling better," Bebe smiled, returning the embrace.

"Much better. Hey, guess what? We're having a party for Tweek on Saturday! How awesome is that? You'd better come!"

"Yeah Craig invited me, I'll be there," Bebe replied, nodding.

Clyde laughed and looked at Craig with mock wariness. "Hey, no hitting on my girl man," He joked.

Craig held up his hands in half-assed protest. "You don't have to worry about me, dude," he said, retreating backwards into his room. "She's all yours. As a matter of fact I'm gonna go ahead and turn my music up real loud tonight so you two can freely demonstrate your devotion to each other." He rolled his eyes. "Night."

...

"Are you okay?" Bebe asked once she and Clyde were seated on his bed. "Because I know sometimes you act okay around Craig because you're scared of what he'll think." She felt almost silly sitting there now, having rushed over to comfort him when there was evidently no need. She tried not to resent the fact that she could have still been in her pyjamas and halfway through _Rosemary's Baby_ right now. She'd really been looking forward to a drama-free night in.

"I'm fine!" Clyde said happily, planting a playful kiss on her jaw "We were fighting earlier but he apologized. We're good now." His kisses moved down to her neck.

"Great," said Bebe, gently pushing his head away when his lips began to venture to her chest.

"What's wrong, Babe? You seem kinda pissed."

"No," she replied, "it's fine. I was just worried. I rushed over. But i'm glad you're okay."

"You're mad at me," Clyde frowned.

Bebe sighed, "I'm not angry with you, I promise. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"No, I can feel it. You're mad!" Cried Clyde, "First Craig hates me, and now you. You guys act like you care but you don't at all!" He put his head in his hands.

So, she'd been right. He wasn't okay. As usual, he had put on a happy face for Craig. "Clyde honey, I'm not mad. It's just, well you know those times we've talked about when your brain makes you over-react? When it sees things as worse than they are?" Clyde nodded glumly, though he looked unconvinced. "Remember what the doctor said? I know the feelings are very real to you but when they come in and take over like this and it gets overwhelming you need to try to remember that a lot of them are unreliable. Nobody hates you, okay? I promise. I love you." Clyde sunk into her arms, crying quietly. She stroked his hair and whispered comforting words into his ear. Finally, his tears stopped. "Have you been taking your medicine?" She asked softly, careful to keep her voice soothing and free of anything that could be misconstrued as an attack.

"No."

"Clyde," she sighed. It was hard to sound sympathetic. "Clyde, you have to take your pills. Is the Lamictal not working? Do you want to try a different stabilizer?"

"No."

Bebe turned him to look at her. "No as in it's not working, or no as in you don't want to try a new mood stabilizer? I can't help you if you don't talk to me." The frustration was seeping in and although she felt terrible for her lack of patience, this was not what a normal girlfriend had to do. Clyde had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder in high school, somewhere around the time they had stopped acting like each break up would be their last. He often displayed symptoms common to a person suffering from being Bipolar. His highs were higher than was good for him, and his lows were even lower. He had two settings: recklessly ecstatic with unrealistically optimistic assumptions about the world, or so depressed that Bebe hardly recognized him. Anything could set him off in either dangerous direction. When she finally convinced him to see a specialist, the specialist had attributed it to a mixture of genetics and the trauma of losing his mother at a young age. Over the years he prescribed a multitude of different mood stabilizers, though none of them seemed to be particularly or lastingly effective.

"I just don't want to be like this anymore!" He broke into pitiful sobs again.

Bebe's heart felt like it was breaking into two. "I know, baby, I know." Tears were pricking her own eyes now, and she held him close. She would talk to him about medication in the morning. Sometimes it was even harder to deal with Clyde's sadness than his angry accusations that she didn't love him or that she was deserting him when she forgot to text him back. Finding out his diagnosis way back in high school had made his irrational actions and mood swings less confusing to her, but unfortunately, no easier to cope with. And even now, as she sat running her fingers through his hair and trying to calm him down, as bad as she felt for him, she also couldn't help but feel sorry for herself as well. She was the only one who knew about his disorder other than his father (who had been unable to handle it and distanced himself from Clyde), and was therefore the only one who was weighed down with his constant barrage of amplified emotions.

Everyone else wrote his behaviour off as being part of his sensitive nature, and he only let the true extent of his disease show in front of Bebe. The worst part though, was that it kept her chained to him, afraid to leave lest his condition worsen without her support. And he craved her support. Every time that they broke up he came whimpering back to her like a wounded animal and she couldn't bear to turn him away. Once she had suggested that they break up permanently but remain good friends, thinking that this would be a reasonable compromise. He had taken a knife from the kitchen and threatened to kill himself, since she apparently wanted to be rid of him so badly. They only fought like this when Craig or Wendy (depending on whose apartment they were at) were out, and if Craig had not returned that evening at that very moment, Bebe was afraid of what might have happened. Clyde knew he was a burden to her, but he also knew that she cared about him too much to do anything that would endanger him, and that was how they lived. Every year, the routine became more exhausting for both of them.

Eventually, Clyde tired himself out and fell asleep. Bebe lay down beside him, covering them both with his blanket and looking at his face. It looked peaceful now, though tear stains streaked his cheeks. A few months after learning his diagnosis, she had resigned herself to taking care of him indefinitely. It had at first seemed to be a monumental, impossible task, but that was what you had to do if you loved someone: take care of them. Bebe had accepted her fate. Clyde needed her to show him that she loved him, that she was _in love _with him. His sense of self-worth was in her hands alone. It was a heavy burden to bear, but Bebe was not one to shirk her duty. She would be around for as long as Clyde needed her. This was how things were. Tears filled her eyes, but they were selfish tears. She felt bad for Clyde, but she felt worse for herself.

**A/N**

**Not going to lie, I'm a lazy editor. If there are any glaring typos in this (or any other chapter), please feel free to let me know so I can fix them and avoid looking like an illiterate fucknut. **


	4. Fucking Butterflies

"What time do you work today, Clyde?" Bebe asked, taking a sip of coffee. He, Craig and Bebe were seated around the kitchen table eating breakfast.

Clyde glanced at the clock. It was just after ten. "I have to be there by 10:30 at the latest," he replied. It was only about a five minute walk away, so he still had time. "Are you working today, dude?" He turned to Craig.

Craig looked up from his cereal. "About that…" he began, "I uh, well when I left early yesterday I didn't exactly have permission. Butters was pissing me off so I kind of just yelled at him and then left." It sounded stupid to him now, though at the time he had felt completely justified. "I guess what I'm saying is that provided I haven't been fired, yes, I'm working. My shift starts at 11."

Clyde's eyes widened. "Shit, that sucks." Bebe nodded her agreement.

"No, it really doesn't," Craig said honestly. "I'm sick of that place anyway." He shrugged. It was true, he really was. He had to admit that even if he arrived at work to find out he no longer worked there, part of him would be grateful. "It sort of ruined tacos for me."

Bebe smiled. "I could drive you there to find out if you want. That way if they did decide to fire your temperamental ass I could give you a lift back home. You wouldn't have to waste time on the bus for nothing," she offered, then added with a sad frown, "I can't believe you yelled at Butters. He's so sweet."

"He was singing," Craig replied, as if that rationalized it. To be fair, in his eyes, it completely did.

Clyde laughed. "Only you would yell at poor Butters for singing. You're totally gonna be one of those old men who sits on his front porch with a shot gun and shouts at all the joyful children playing in the street."

"Hey you kids!" Bebe croaked, doing her best impression of a grumpy old man, "Quiet down and get off my property before I come over there and _beat _the happiness out of you!" She shook her fist in the air for emphasis and Clyde dissolved into snickers.

Craig frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. "I sound nothing like that!" He croaked, sounding quite a bit like that and only making the couple laugh harder.

Finally, their giggles died down and Bebe wiped at the corners of her eyes. "So is that a yes for the ride, then?"

"I don't know, aren't you afraid I'm going to try to "beat the happiness" out of you?" Craig was still frowning, but his eyes betrayed a tiny sense of amusement.

"I think I can handle it," Bebe smiled.

"Shit!" Clyde said suddenly happening to have looked over at the clock. "I gotta go get dressed or I'm gonna be late, babe." He placed a quick kiss on her cheek before running to his room. "If Craig tries to infect you with the teen angst he never grew out of, fight back with cheesy inspirational quotes. They're his only weakness!"

"Good to know," Bebe said glancing at Craig and raising her eyebrows. "Is that true?"

"Yeah," he snorted, finishing the rest of his coffee. "I start melting like Wicked Witch of the fucking West."

...

Once in the car, Bebe turned on the radio. "You can pick the station," she told Craig, adjusting the rearview mirror. He fiddled with the controls for a few seconds until a heavy sounding rock song started to play. Bebe began humming along until Craig looked at her in surprise. "Sorry!" She cried, "I forgot the no singing rule. Please don't disembowel me and feed my body to the wolves!" She begged.

Craig rolled his eyes and ignored her plea before asking dubiously, "You listen to Nirvana?" He furrowed his brows.

"Oh, is this not The Pussycat Dolls?" Bebe gasped in mock confusion, then scolded, "I don't think you give me enough credit, Craig. Not every girl our age wants to be Paris Hilton anymore."

"I'm glad you finally grew out of that," Craig answered scornfully, remembering a "Stupid Spoiled Whore" party a certain someone threw when they were young.

Bebe laughed. "Oh God, that was awful. I can't believe you remember that."

"I'm pretty sure that shit left at least half the boys in our grade traumatized," Craig said, making a face.

"Hah! I bet the bunch horn-balls wish they had taken the chance when it was offered now, though," Bebe smirked, knowing that by the time middle school and high school rolled around, the tables had turned and it was the boys doing the (often unfruitful) pursuing of the girls.

Craig was silent so Bebe took a chance, peeking over at the reserved boy and attempting to initiate an actual conversation. "Hey, how come I never saw you trying to get with any girls in high school?"

He visibly tensed up at this, keeping his eyes fixed out the front window of the car. "Never wanted to, I guess."

Bebe knit her brows, skeptical. "I know you're introverted and everything, Craig, but I have a hard time believing you didn't once feel the urge for some sort of female companionship. Unless you're gay," she added quickly, "which would be totally fine and explain a lot, actually." She turned her head to the side. For once, Craig's usually unexpressive face was completely overcome with emotion: horror.

"I-I'm not gay!" He sputtered. "What the fuck Bebe, you can't go around assuming people are gay!"

"Geez, sorry!" She apologized, seemingly taken aback. "It's just that I never once saw you show any interest in women," she reasoned, "you have to understand how I might come to that conclusion." Bebe, however, knew very well that Craig wasn't gay. Clyde had once given her permission to use his roommate's laptop to look something up and she had found quite an impressive collection of lesbian porn on it. She knew that Craig was straight. In actuality, she was fishing, trying to shock him into defending his sexuality and opening up to her. To her surprise, it worked.

"It's not that I'm not attracted to women," Craig started with a sigh, "I'm just shitty at talking to them, okay? Not only women, everyone. But especially women. Don't act like this is news to you. I'm pretty sure everyone is aware of it." He snorted. "Besides, all the girls I know suck anyways."

"Gee, thanks."

"Shit. Look, I didn't mean-"

"No you're right Craig, you kind of _do _suck at talking to women." Bebe rolled her eyes, "I totally get it now." She was still fishing, and Craig was falling for it hook, line and sinker. It was hard to keep herself from smiling and she forced herself to look hurt.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Craig cried out, agitated. "See this is what I'm talking about." He took a deep breath. "Yes, it's rare for me to find a girl who doesn't make me want to cut my own ears off to stop the sound of her moronic voice." He paused. "But on the off chance that I do find someone who's even slightly interesting, I say something stupid or cynical or offensive and she goes off running for her life like I'm some kind of ogre who wants to eat her for dinner instead of just _take_ her out for dinner. Not to sound like one of the Goddamn goth kids, but no one understands me. Clyde is the only person on the whole fucking planet who actually likes me."

"I like you."

"No, you put up with me. There's a difference." He continued. "My contempt for people goes both ways. I give what I get."

"So basically you drive people away so that they never have the opportunity to leave you? Craig that's like, ridiculously fucking sad."

Craig stared sullenly at his feet and didn't reply so Bebe repeated: "I like you."

"You're…" He groaned. "I don't hate you. And you don't suck."

Bebe felt butterflies at that. Fucking butterflies at being told by Craig Tucker that he "didn't hate her" and she "doesn't suck." Then again, coming from him that was a pretty high compliment. She smiled. "Are you only saying that because you just found out I like the same angry music that you do?"

Craig expelled a small burst of air through his nose and shook his head, returning her smile. "No, Bebe. You manage not to suck all on your own. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Bebe laughed. "See? You'll find a girl. There are _some_ people on this planet that you don't hate."

"Yeah but you're dating Clyde."

Bebe's heart stopped and her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She fought the impulse to look over at his face and search for any sign that he was serious. _Could he possibly have meant that how it sounded? Or were her own hopes just influencing the way she was interpreting his words? _Not that it really mattered either way. He was right. She was dating Clyde. And now, sitting in the car with Craig, she felt like bursting into tears because of it. Instead, she pushed out a strained laugh. "Yeah," she agreed, then said jokingly, "Darn!" Craig laughed too, also seeming a little uncomfortable at whatever the fuck it was that had just happened between them. Something in the mood had shifted and now the air felt heavy and thick, like it was turning into rapidly solidifying jello.

"We're here," Craig said, startling Bebe from her thoughts and pointing out the window at the approaching mall.

"Right," Bebe replied, putting on her blinker and turning into the parking lot. The Nirvana song must have ended a while ago but she only noticed now because a boisterous voice was demanding that she book a Caribbean vacation with US Airways. She pulled into a spot near the back entrance to the mall and shut off the car. "I'll wait here, you can tell me how it goes."

...

It was mere minutes before Craig returned to the car. He sat down and closed the door behind him, answering any question she might have been about to ask.

"Oh," said Bebe. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be," Craig replied giving her a reassuring look. "To be honest I'm kind of relieved."

"Well in that case, I am too." Bebe smiled, starting the car. "So how are you going to spend your newfound freedom?" She asked.

"It's weird, I don't even know what to do with myself," Craig stated, cocking his head.

"Well if you actually feel the need to do something with yourself for once, you're more than welcome to help me bake Tweek's cake. Or I can drop you back at your place so you can enjoy utter isolation until Clyde comes home," she added with a knowing smirk.

Craig didn't say anything for a moment, then surprised himself by answering, "I could help you with the cake, I guess. I mean it's the least I can do." Somehow, the idea of shutting himself up in his room and watching Red Racer by himself was less appealing than it would have sounded to him this morning.

Bebe appeared surprised too, but simply nodded her head. "We have to stop at the grocery store first."

"Are we going to do it at my place or yours?" Craig questioned, glancing over.

Bebe gave him a stern look before saying, "God Craig, at least buy me dinner first."

It took Craig a second to realize what she meant by this, but when he got the joke he burst into laughter, colouring at her suggestive twisting of his words. "I'll get you a bag of chips from the store, how about that?" He asked, playing along.

"I like Doritoes," Bebe returned, grinning. The butterflies were back. But she and Craig were joking, of course. They weren't flirting or anything. This was just what friends did, they joked around around with each other.

...

Craig was squinting. The bright fluorescent bulbs that illuminated the grocery store hurt his eyes, and when he looked over at her, Bebe was giving him a strange look.

"Jesus, Craig. You really need to get out into the light a bit more," she said, feigning concern. _Or maybe she really was concerned._ Craig was fucked if _he_ knew what was going on anymore. She had caught him off guard with her questions in the car on the way to the mall, as did anyone who tried to get to know him. What caught him off guard even more still was the fact that rather than shutting her down with a dry insult or just plain ignoring her, he had complied. Maybe on some subconscious level he had a suppressed desire for human interaction. _No, that couldn't be it, _he shook his head slightly. He was just defending his sexuality. _She had called him gay, for fuck's sake. That was it. _True, he had never really hated Bebe. Her presence was something of an annoyance when they were kids, and later on along the line it had morphed into disinterest, and finally he had reached his current stage of thinking she was "alright." But that didn't explain the Goddamn heart-to-heart they'd had in the car.

"Do you think Tweek would like chocolate or vanilla icing on the cake?" Bebe asked, looking pensively at the boxes on the shelves.

"Chocolate," Craig replied distractedly, eyes also fixed on the selection of icings but mind far away. He had to admit that out of all the girls he knew, Bebe was the least… bothersome. She was more than that. She was even kind of nice. And apparently she hadn't just been tolerating him all these years either, she actually liked him. Or so she said. His thoughts buzzed, seeming to bounce off the inner surface of his skull until they were all tangled, muddled into one big chaotic knot. This was another reason he avoided people. They were confusing as hell.

"Incoming," Bebe abruptly leaned over to whisper in his ear, rousing him from his thoughts a second time. He glanced up just in time to see Sheila Broflovski rapidly approaching them. It was too late to run.

"Well hello, you two!" Sheila jabbered in her usual squawking tone.

"Hi, Mrs. Broflovski," Bebe said in what she hoped was a pleasant enough voice to not betray how badly she didn't want to be talking to the nosy woman. Craig merely nodded his greeting.

"I didn't know you two were together," she chattered, giving both of them a thorough once over.

"We're actually-" Bebe began but she was cut off.

"You make a lovely couple," gushed Sheila.

"But we don't-"

"Oh yes, you are! You're absolutely adorable," she gushed, seeming to think that Bebe was modestly denying how "adorable" there were as a couple, rather than the fact that they were actually even a couple in the first place. "I have to run now," Sheila babbled, pushing her cart off in the other direction, "but you kids have a nice day!"

Bebe chuckled uncomfortably. "Well I guess that's going to be all over town before the day's over."

Craig shrugged, oddly calm. "Whatever. No one listens to her anyway." He took the box of chocolate icing from Bebe's hands, studying the package intently.

Bebe nodded in agreement. "That's true."

It wasn't long before they had gathered all the ingredients, and Bebe was soon placing items on the conveyor belt at the checkout line. "Hang on!" Craig suddenly said, bolting away from her. Bebe exchanged a puzzled glance with the cashier, shrugging her shoulders. Craig returned about half a minute later, clutching a bag of Doritoes. "I like them too," he said, noticing the questioning look on her face. "Don't flatter yourself."

Craig smirked, opening his wallet and paying for the groceries. _Fucking. Butterflies._

**A/N**

**I ****_might_**** not be updating quite as frequently for the next little while because my course load is crazy right now. I say ****_might_**** because I do tend to use writing as a means for procrastination so who knows, maybe I'll end up updating even more. I guess I'll have to wait and see how much restraint I have (hint: none). **

**Also thanks to AKA 24601 for assuring me that I'm not boring him to tears with the slow pace of this. Hopefully things are starting to pick up now in the Craig/Bebe department.**

**Feedback is always appreciated, even if it's only to tell me that I use too many adjectives and should just go ahead and kill myself. **

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. Noble

The only sound was the _tick tick tick_ of the kitchen clock. Craig was seated at the table across from Wendy, Bebe having gone off to another room of her apartment to look for the recipe book. Wendy was eating lunch, chewing slowly and eyeing Craig warily like he was a dangerous animal that could attack at any second. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Craig uttered an irritated, "What?"

Wendy finished chewing on her bite of sandwich, then swallowed with a loud gulp and tried to be polite. "So you uh, like… baking, Craig?"

"No."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Tweek's birthday should be fun, huh?" She tried again, hopefully.

"Yeah."

Wendy tried not to roll her eyes. She had no idea what Bebe saw in him. _Or how she had seduced him over to their apartment so quickly_, she thought wryly. "Excuse me," she said to Craig with an apologetic smile, raising from the table, putting her dishes in the sink and leaving the kitchen.

Bebe was in her room, finger combing her hair in front of the mirror on her wall. "Gotcha," Wendy stated calmly, standing in the doorway.

Her friend leapt in surprise and spun around. "Jesus fucking Christ!" She stifled a shriek and frowned in annoyance. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Wendy raised her eyebrows. "If I were in your position I'd be less worried about me sneaking up on you, which I totally didn't, by the way, and more worried about the fact that you're fixing yourself up for Craig," she said pointedly. "You're awful jumpy, Bebe. Feeling guilty about something?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she dismissed with a decided sniff. "I was just in here looking for the coffee cake recipe." Wendy wordlessly pointed to the cookbook that was lying on Bebe's bed, in plain sight. "Yeah, yeah, I just found it. I was about the leave," Bebe defended, snatching the book up and heading to the door.

Wendy caught her arm and sighed. "Be careful with this shit, okay? I love you but you're seriously living dangerously right now. Someone's going to get hurt." Her face was concerned.

Bebe shook off her friend's hand. "If you're done playing the moral police," she said with a scowl, "I'd like to go now."

Wendy shrugged and gave Bebe a sad smile. "When this all blows up in your face, remember that I tried." She departed in the direction of her own room and closed the door behind her softly, feeling that she'd done what she could and deciding to wash her hands of the matter for the time being.

…

"Hey!" Bebe said cheerfully, re-entering the kitchen. "Found it!"

Craig turned around in his chair. "Okay."

She put the book down and began unpacking the ingredients, setting them up on the counter. She felt uneasy in his presence, now. She wondered if he felt the tension too or if it was just her wishful thinking again. She spared a glance over at him. He was still seated, intently tracing the patterns in the grain of the wooden table. His silky dark hair fell over one eye. It was longer than it had been when he was young. Even last year, it had been fairly short. This length suited him, though. It hid his face in a perfectly Craig-like way when his head was bent over. Mysterious and hidden, just like him. She wanted to touch it. She wanted to run a hand through it, to pull his head back by it, exposing his face and neck. She wanted to-

"Goddamn it what's with everyone staring at me today?" Craig muttered, interrupting her thoughts. "First Wendy and now you. Did I sprout another fucking head or something?" His tone was not angry but he was looking at her with a strange expression. He had caught her looking at him. He had caught her imagining what it would be like to touch his hair. _For fuck's sake. _

"I was wondering what shampoo you use," Bebe rescued in (what she hoped was) a graceful manner but she could tell she was blushing. "Your hair looks… soft. Mine's always super frizzy. Wendy calls me 'Pube Noodle' sometimes," she rambled. Okay, so maybe she wasn't exactly smooth about it. But at least envying his hair was less embarrassing than admitting a desire to run her fingers though it.

"'Pube Noodle,' I like that. Might have to start using that one," Craig laughed, then replied, "As for shampoo, I get whatever's on sale." He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but thankfully let the subject drop.

Bebe nodded and turned back to the ingredients. Flour, sugar, baking power, good. Things she _wasn't _sexually attracted to. She rolled her eyes at her own foolishness and shook her head slightly, trying to shake loose the troubling thoughts and focus on the task at hand. She began by mixing the dry ingredients together in the bowl. "Can you get eggs from the fridge?" She asked Craig, reaching for the butter.

He nodded and retrieved the eggs, putting them on the counter beside her. "What next, boss?"

"Can I trust you to crack them?" She asked, removing the spoon from the mixture and sliding it over to him.

"Probably not," he shrugged, picking up an egg and holding it experimentally over the bowl anyway. "What do I do? Just throw the whole thing in and start mashing away at it?" If Craig had been a stranger to her, she might not have recognized the sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah, use your feet. They usually work best."

"Got it," Craig grinned, expertly cracking the eggs, careful not to let any remnant of shell fall into the bowl. "Aw," he frowned, "I did it wrong."

Bebe laughed. "And here you had me fooled into thinking you were helpless in the kitchen last night! Manipulative bastard."

"I never said I was bad in the kitchen," Craig corrected. "I merely said that I had burned water. You inferred the rest."

"Bastard," she repeated with feigned anger.

"Nope, just lazy," Craig corrected again, sliding the bowl back to her. "What now?"

…

Soon the batter was prepared and Craig held the bowl while Bebe spooned it into the baking tin. "I think it'll turn out really good!" She said happily, placing the tin in the oven and setting the timer on her phone.

"That's because I helped," Craig bragged.

"You're so full of shit," she scoffed. "You did like, one thing."

"Yeah but it was the most important thing," he argued.

"Nuh uh!"

"Uh HUH!" He stuck out his tongue.

_Great. _Now they were bickering like a couple of school children. _Puppy love, _thought Bebe._ It was that damn silky hair of his. _"Forty minutes until we take it out," she informed him, putting the dirty dishes in the sink. She'd deal with them later. Or more likely, Wendy would.

"Okay," Craig replied, nodding. The sound of the clock ticking filled the room again.

"We could watch some TV or something," she offered, "or I dunno, I have cards." _Cards. Had she really just suggested that they play cards?_

"Can I see your room?" Craig asked.

_Okay, she took it back. Cards would have been better. Craig was about to be in her room. Shit. _"Yeah, sure."

…

Craig took in his surroundings. There was a lot of red. Like, a _lot _of red. The bedspread was red, the walls were red, and there was a red throw rug on the hardwood floor. "That's a lot of fucking red," Craig stated.

"It's my favourite." Bebe was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed defensively and Craig was standing in the middle of the room.

"It's very… you," he said cryptically.

Bebe laughed softly and shook her head. "I can never tell when you're insulting me or not."

Craig gave her a crooked smile. "I'm probably not. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes I can't even tell anymore." It was true. Sarcasm and mockery had become such effective ways of shutting people down that they came almost reflexively to him. Usually, it wasn't a problem and he couldn't think of many occasions where he'd lost any sleep over hurting someone's feelings. But he didn't like the idea of Bebe thinking he was judging her. The list of people who actually liked him had just reached the two person mark and he wasn't about to fuck that up. "It's not an insult," he confirmed. "Bonus points because if you killed someone in here the blood wouldn't even show."

"Uh, should I be afraid?" Bebe cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.

He shrugged. "No, not unless you suddenly turn into an annoying airhead or something and I have to do away with you."

"I guess I can manage that," she said, but now he was studying the items on her shelf. Most of them were textbooks from her classes, but something seemed to catch his eye and he pulled it out. Her high school yearbook.

"This should be good," he smirked, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"Oh fuck no!" Bebe refused, shaking her head wildly. Craig was sitting on her bed which was a horrifying and exciting thought that she would address later, but right now there were other issues at hand. "No fucking way. We don't need to relive the memories of the lion mane that my hair was in secondary school, thank you very much."

"Shut up about your hair, it's nice," Craig mumbled blandly, already engrossed in the book.

Bebe felt a hand go subconsciously up to the her mass of hair that Craig evidently thought was nice, but quickly brought it back down again and moved to stand near him. He was reading what people had written in it. "Hey, quit it. That's personal," she frowned.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Milly telling you to 'have a good summer' and she can't wait to 'get sooo wasted with you' is really intimate shit." He turned the page and grinned shrewdly. "Ooh, now let's see, what did Clyde write? Damn, apparently an entire fucking novel by the looks of it." Bebe leaned over. Clyde _had_ filled almost a full page with his messy scrawl. She hadn't opened the yearbook in ages but after reading the first sentence, it came back to her. He'd written it on one of his good days. A heartfelt declaration of love and devotion, almost obsessive through its references to 'forever' and her being 'the only one on the planet for him.'

Craig made a face. "Dude, this is fucking sappy as hell." He turned the page, not bothering to finish. It made him queasy, for some reason that he couldn't quite explain.

"You're just jealous that you're incapable of love," Bebe retorted with a laugh, shoving him over and sitting beside him. "Make fun of Clyde and I all you want but I'd be surprised if you've even seen a boob in the flesh."

He frowned at her. He'd seen two pairs of boobs in the flesh, as a matter of fact, it wasn't his fault that both times he was too wasted to properly remember them. _Okay, yes it was. _"I have, too!" His voice came out juvenile and unconvincing.

"Relax Craig, I'm just joking. Don't get your panties in a bunch." She smiled kindly, then leaned over and whispered in his ear not so kindly, "Strip clubs don't count."

Craig perked up and shot her a bewildered look. "What makes you think I've been to a strip club?"

"The fact that I'm literally 100% sure that you have," she laughed. "Clyde told me you and Token took him to try and lift his spirits after we broke up once."

Craig shook his head in disbelief. He would never understand the relationship those two shared. Apparently Clyde could tell Bebe that he went to go watch naked women dance a few hours after breaking up with her and she could laugh about it but if one of them should happen to give the other a look they didn't like, it would be world war fucking three in Craig's living room. _Weird as shit, they were._ "Yeah," Craig admitted with a shrug. If she knew there was no point in denying it. "It didn't work though. As I'm sure he told you, he got ten seconds into a lap dance before he ran out crying hysterically about how he much he missed you."

Actually, Clyde had told her no such thing. Bebe fought to keep the surprise off her face and nodded, not wanting Craig to know that he had just spilled one of Clyde's secrets. The guilt had gotten worse. She shifted the discussion away from Clyde and nudged Craig in the arm. "What about you? Did friend-of-the-year-Mr. Tucker get to enjoy some one-on-one entertainment?" She winked.

He laughed dryly. "No, it took both me and Token to carry him home after that shit. I'd never seen him so fucked up."

It was hard not to reveal her true reaction to this new information. Clyde's version of the story had been much different. He had, through laughter, told her about a pregnant dancer who wouldn't stop hitting on Craig, about how Token had done a body shot off the hot bartender. Clyde must have been pretty bad if he wouldn't even tell Bebe about it. She'd always thought he spilled everything to her but now she wondered what else she didn't know about. She forced a smile and comforted Craig with mock sympathy, "Aw, geez. I'm sorry to hear that. One day we'll go out and I'll buy you a lap dance to make up for it. I didn't mean for Clyde's intense love for me to get in between you and a stripper's ass."

"Yeah, no shit. You must keep him pretty satisfied." Craig thought back to the conversation he'd had with Clyde following their most recent instance of getting back together. He'd mentioned Bebe doing something with her 'magic tongue' but Craig had cut him off. Now he almost wished he hadn't. The thought of Bebe's tongue was somewhat less repulsive to him than it had been that night. Apparently all it took for Craig to think about a girl's tongue was that girl happening to not hate him, even if said girl was dating his best friend. _Talk about some low fucking standards. _

Bebe pulled her knees up onto the bed and sat cross legged, now facing Craig. "Gross, does he spout off to you about our sex life? I'm sorry you have to hear that."

"He tries," Craig admitted, "But I can usually make him shut up. It's so disturbing, he's like my brother."

"You should fight fire with fire," she suggested with a devious smirk. "Repulse him with stories of your own. I bet you're into all kinds of kinky shit."

Craig crumpled his brow. "What makes you say that?" He decided not to volunteer the information that his so-called 'stories' consisted of the embarrassingly short incident with Sally on prom night and that one other time he didn't remember at all.

"I dunno," replied Bebe, "You're just usually so repressed and inhibited whenever you're around people, you must have to let loose somewhere."

Probably due to his lack of experience, he had never considered this. "I'm probably not kinky," he said, thinking aloud.

"What do you mean probably?" Bebe inquired, confused. "Are you so repressed that you don't even know your own sexual preferences? _Wait. _Have you even had sex? I know I joked around about you seeing boobs but have you actually ever had sex?!" Her voice was not condescending or cruel, just amazed.

"I've had sex," Craig flushed. This was getting really fucking personal really fucking fast. Maybe some people were cool with baring all the humiliating details of their sex lives to people they were only just starting to get to know but not Craig. "We should check on the cake," he said quickly. This was not a smooth nor subtle transition. _Shit._

Bebe humoured him and looked at the time on her phone. "It's only been half an hour."

"Oh." She wasn't buying it.

She sighed. "I'm not going to hound you about it, Craig. I'm not some kind of voyeuristic pervert who's gonna get off on this later. I was just genuinely curious. If you're… lacking in experience, so to speak, it would be completely understandable. I know you've never had a girlfriend or anything. I bet it can be tough. If you wanna talk, I'm here."

Craig glanced over in annoyance. "Will you fuck off talking like that? You don't have to believe me. And you definitely don't have to pity me. I don't care. I've had sex," he told her stubbornly.

"Are we talking one time, two times, three times…" she trailed off, squinting her eyes and trying to gauge his reaction for hints.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know! I'm just wondering."

He sighed. "Twice, okay? Twice. Are you fucking satisfied now?"

Bebe shrugged, trying to meet his eyes but he turned away. "I don't know. Not particularly."

Craig groaned, then spat sarcastically, "Shall I write up a detailed report for you? Do you have some forms I can fill out?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No! Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be nosy." _Shit._ She really didn't. How could she phrase this in a way that wouldn't sound creepy as fuck? "I just - You're just so strange." _That was not a good start. _"I don't mean that you're bad-strange. You're just different. Like, you don't do things the way that everyone else does. You don't give in to what everyone thinks you should do. You do your own thing and say fuck everybody else. I wish I could be like that. I think it's awesome that you don't devote your life to getting laid. True 21st century nobility."

"Hah," he scoffed humourlessly, shaking his head. "Noble? You think that the three minutes I lasted fucking Sally Darson on prom night was noble? She wouldn't even look at me the next morning. It was probably terrible. I mean, of course it was terrible. How could it not be? What about the one other time at the beginning of this year? I literally can't remember one single thing about it because this time _I_ was so fucking drunk. Is that noble enough for you? Noble, hah. Give me a break." He massaged his temples in frustration.

Bebe sat in stunned silence. This was the second time Craig had opened up to her. It was surreal to hear him say so much at once, especially things of such substance. She didn't want him to regret opening up to her. "Craig, if I thought any less of you for whatever sexual experience you may or may not have, what would that say about me?" He looked up. "I don't just respect you for not acting like a pussy-crazed thirteen year old like a lot of the other guys. You're -" She sighed. "I can't explain it." _Can't explain, or afraid to? _She wondered.

She met his eyes and now they were looking at each other. Really looking. It was odd, how infrequently people made true eye contact with each other. Craig's eyes were a dark blue, she noticed, although dark wasn't quite the right word. They were more of a _deep_ blue. She knew it was an overly sentimental thought but she felt like she could fall into them. She wouldn't mind. He looked not exactly questioning, but he seemed to be wondering something. She couldn't tell what. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but in true Hollywood cliche form, the timer interrupted them choosing that precise moment to go off, signalling that the cake was done. Bebe laughed nervously, shutting off the timer. "_Now_ the cake is done."

They rose from her bed and went back into the kitchen, Bebe leading the way. She removed the cake from the oven. "Smells great," Craig said, eyeing their creation proudly.

"Yeah it does," she agreed, setting it on the counter to cool. "Hey, are you hungry? Breakfast was a while ago."

Craig shrugged. "I could eat." Bebe smiled, taking the Doritos he bought earlier down from the cupboard.

"Good call on the chips," she said, filling a bowl with them and setting it down at the kitchen table. They sat.

"As I recall, it was your idea," he informed her, popping one into his mouth. He was just glad that they weren't talking about his fucking sex life anymore. Clyde was the only one who'd known about the girl at the beginning of the year and Bebe was the first to know about Sally at all. _Embarrassing shit, right there._

"Well go me, then," Bebe cheered unenthusiastically. She was distracted, thinking about her conversation with him earlier. About Clyde and the stripper, about Craig and Sally. _Craig could do much better than Sally_, she thought with what she feared might have been jealousy. She had no right. They crunched on their chips for a few minutes then Bebe stood, going over to check on the temperature of the cake. "Should be alright to ice, now," she said, looking over at him.

"Okay."

She opened the chocolate icing and was spreading it over the cake just as Wendy walked into the kitchen. "Holy shit, you guys, that looks awesome!"

Bebe smiled. "Thanks! I think it'll be good."

Wendy inhaled the deeply, then joked, "You're gonna have to hide it from me or it'll be gone by tomorrow."

Her friend glared at her. "If you so much as touch this cake I swear to God I will kill you." She held up the icing knife menacingly.

Wendy threw up her hands. "I'm just kidding! I'll behave myself. I promise. What are you going to wear to Tweek's thing anyway?" She turned to Craig. "Is there a dress code?"

He shrugged apathetically. "How the hell should I know."

Wendy took a chip from the bowl. "Well you're kind of hosting it and everything, so…"

"Ugh. Don't remind me. I don't know, wear whatever you want," Craig said. "Wear a fucking snuggie for all I care."

"Don't tempt her," Bebe warned him, "She totally will."

"Hey, how _did_ Clyde get you to agree to have people over, anyway?" Wendy asked curiously. "He must have held a gun to your head or something."

"Close. He threw a bitch-fit, actually," Craig clarified. Bebe smiled sadly to herself at his words, recalling the night. If only Craig knew.

"Well, in any case, I'm looking forward to it," Wendy admitted. "The high school gang hasn't all been together at once since, what? Last New Years? It's been almost a year."

"Yeah," Craig snorted. "And hopefully it'll be at least another year before I have to go through this shit again."

"It won't be so bad," insisted Bebe optimistically. "Just get drunk enough to tolerate them all, that's what I do."

Wendy nodded. "It's true. Contrary to how gorgeous and fun Bebe is, she's not all that big on parties either."

Her friend blushed at the compliment but agreed with the second part. "The music always sucks and everyone is always so fake with each other, making small talk and shit, and Kenny always tries to hit on me and Clyde always ends up drinking too much and then I have to take care of him the whole night."

"You and me both," said Craig.

"Kenny hits on you too?" Bebe joked. "That two timing whore!"

Craig chuckled. "Shut up. You know what I'm talking about."

She nodded then said, "Let's make a pact. Tomorrow, if Clyde gets too drunk he has to take care of himself. No ruining our nights. Besides, he's in his own Goddamn apartment, I'm sure he won't get into _too_ much trouble."

"Agreed."

Bebe put the finishing touches on the cake, smoothing out the icing and admiring her work. "Good."

"Hey," Wendy said looking at the clock, "I hate to break this up but Red's coming over for dinner later and we have to tidy up a bit before she gets here." Bebe shot her a small look of annoyance but she was right. It was getting late.

"I can drive you home, if you want," she offered to Craig.

"Nah, I can walk. Don't worry."

"It's cold," Bebe argued, already picking up her keys from their dish on the counter. "I can take you."

…

"What are _you_ wearing tomorrow?" Bebe asked, once they were in the car.

Craig snorted. "I don't fucking know, do I seem like the type of person to plan that shit out ahead of time? I'll wear whatever's clean, I guess."

She smiled. "You should wear that dark blue t-shirt you have. I like it, it reminds me of the coat you used to wear when you were a kid." Not to mention it clung to his body in a way that made her blood race, but she didn't say that out loud.

"Yes master," he scoffed. "Whatever you say master." However, as was increasingly the case, he spoke without malice. Bebe was getting good at picking up on the little changes in his tone that made all the difference. Maybe he wasn't even as big of an asshole as everyone thought. Maybe people were just really shitty at recognizing sarcasm. Or maybe he had just stopped being such an asshole with her. _Did she dare hope?_

"It looks good on you," she affirmed. "Take the damn compliment."

"Yes master." He answered even more insolently with a singsong voice this time. She laughed softly.

"You should wear your red dress."

"Which red dress? I have like ten," she admitted. Her heartbeat picked up. He had evidently, at one point at least, noticed something she wore and was now suggesting that she wear it again. Her head was starting to hurt from all the ways of interpreting the things he said. It was exhausting. Maybe he meant nothing by it. She should stop trying so hard.

"The one you wore on New Years. I was thinking about it earlier when we were talking in the kitchen. It has that gold chain belt or whatever," he clarified. "And I know Clyde likes it," he added almost guiltily as an afterthought.

"Oh, that one." She smiled. "Yeah, I think I can arrange that." It might be a little bit dressy for the occasion, especially if Wendy did decide to wear her snuggie, but she didn't care. She would put a cardigan over it to dress it down.

Soon, they pulled up in front of his apartment. "I had fun today," Bebe said, careful to keep her expression neutral.

"Me too," Craig said equally casually, staring down at his hands.

"I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?"

"Yeah." He paused as if he were about to say something else, but seemed to change his mind. "Bye."

He exited the car without looking back or waving. She sighed and turned on the engine.


	6. Rum

"Shit dude, are you trying to kill me?!" Clyde gaped at the 26er of Jack Daniels that Craig was holding up with a smirk.

"I said the drinks were on me," he shrugged. "Relax, it's for both of us. You don't have to drink the whole thing yourself, unless you want to." He set the bottle down on the kitchen counter beside the soft drinks and bags of chips. It was Saturday, the night of Tweek's party, nearly 8 o'clock and the guests were scheduled to arrive any time after 9. Craig had just returned from picking up the alcohol and to his surprise, he noticed that Clyde had actually done a decent job of half-assing some decorations, leaving the apartment looking almost festive. There were balloons filled with helium, streamers hanging off the light fixtures and a 'Happy Birthday' banner on the living room wall. There was even a beer pong table set up off to the side of the room. Clyde himself however, was still in his pyjamas pants, apparently not having left the house that day. The pants had a hole in the crotch and Craig could see his roommate's polka dot boxers. He shook his head. "Look, I know I said that pants were optional on the invitation but can you at least put in a little effort? Your girlfriend said she's gonna wear that red dress you like, do you want her to show you up?"

"When were you talking to Bebe?" Clyde asked with a confused frown. Craig had not bothered to mention to him that he had helped Bebe with the cake the day before and didn't see the need to now.

"Yesterday, remember? She drove me to work. You know, when I found out I got fired." He decided to leave it at that. Telling Clyde that he and her had sort of hung out, or whatever the fuck it was that they did, would probably only send him into a fit of unwarranted jealousy so Craig kept his mouth shut.

"Oh yeah, right. Okay, well I'll go change then, I guess." Clyde went into his room, as did Craig, shutting the door behind him. He went over to his closet, looking at his wardrobe thoughtfully. The dark blue shirt Bebe liked was looking back at him from one of the hangers. Things had gotten kind of weird between them, somehow. Craig might not be the best at picking up on social cues but he wasn't retarded, and he wasn't blind. She'd recently begun to act strangely towards him. Saying nice things and complimenting him and appearing to actually give a shit about the things he said and how he felt. Then again, maybe that was just how basic human interaction worked and Craig was too used to either being disliked or being alone to recognize it. _How sad,_ he thought sourly. That's what Bebe had called his lifestyle in the car: ridiculously sad. She thought he actively worked to push people away so they couldn't hurt him, but that wasn't the case. People were repelled by him all on their own. Except for her, apparently, and of course Clyde. _Unless you spend too much time staring into closets and thinking about his girlfriend, _he thought dryly, shaking the thoughts from his head and reaching for the blue shirt.

He was being stupid. Bebe wanted to be his friend, for whatever bizarre reason and he should just accept it and be grateful. He switched the shirt he currently had on for the blue one and then went to the bathroom to check his appearance. He didn't have a mirror in his room because his looks were generally not of enough concern to him for it to be worth it. He studied himself in the harsh artificial lighting of the bathroom, smoothing his already flat hair. He looked kind of okay, actually. There were small bags under his eyes because he had a shitty sleep the previous night (one of those nights where your brain wouldn't shut the fuck up long enough for you to drift off), but his skin was less sallow than usual and the shirt fit him nicely. _Not that he gave a shit. _

He went back into the kitchen, joining Clyde who was already there, wearing jeans and a dress shirt and taking large sips from what Craig assumed to be Jack and Coke. "Starting the party early, are we?" Craig asked nodding over to the drink in his red solo cup.

Clyde shrugged. "You gonna tell on me?"

"Nah," Craig replied, deciding that his friend had the right idea and fixing himself a cup. The ratio of whiskey to soda was dangerously close to bordering on 60/40 (in favour of the whiskey), but the guests would be arriving in less than an hour and he figured that the only way he was going to survive the night would be to, as Bebe put it, get drunk enough to tolerate them all.

**… **

"Hey, do you have an extra pair of pantyhose?" Bebe asked, popping her head into Wendy's room. "You look great by the way," she smiled. Her friend had evidently decided against wearing the snuggie, and was clothed in a casual but elegant A-line purple dress that made her look classy, like a princess or something. "Stan's going to love it."

"Thanks girl, you look pretty hot in that yourself!" Wendy returned with a grin, "Give me your boobs, damn it!" She surveyed her friend's figure, not so modestly showcased by the fitted red minidress that skimmed gracefully over her curves. "And Clyde's gonna pop a stiffy before you even take that thing off," she joked, then said with a raised eyebrow, "Craig too."

Bebe groaned. "Not this again. I told you, nothing is going on with Craig. And even if I did have any inclination towards him, I wouldn't act on it, okay? I'm not some kind of horny nympho who can't keep her clothes on. Now do you have any fucking pantyhose or not?"

"Is black okay?"

"Yes," she huffed.

"Look, I'm sorry," Wendy exhaled, passing her friend the tights and offering a weary smile. "I know that you don't want to do anything to hurt Clyde. But I also know that you're not happy with him and you can't go on like this for much longer. I'm just looking out for you."

"I know, I know," Bebe sighed, nodding. "Whatever. I don't want to think about it anymore. Can we just go get really really drunk and forget about it for now?"

"That sounds like a healthy way of dealing with your problems," Wendy chided solemnly.

"I could seriously do without a lecture right now," Bebe said hopping around on one foot and pulling on the pantyhose.

"Alright, I'll reschedule it for tomorrow morning when we're both grumpy and hungover," she laughed, giving her friend a playful nudge.

"Perfect," Bebe replied with a sarcastic smile as she returned to her own room, getting to work on taming her wild curls. She defined a few of them with a curling iron and finger combed anti-frizz serum into the mass, opting to leave it down for the evening. She added a few coats of mascara and and swept some blush over her cheeks before admiring her reflection. Wendy was always telling her how much she looked like Annalynne McCord, and sometimes she kind of saw it. She put on a flowy black cardigan and went to the kitchen, debating whether or not she should pre-drink a bit here before going over to Clyde's. She looked pensively at the bottle of white rum on the table.

"Go ahead, I won't judge you," Wendy laughed, putting on an earring and coming into the room.

Bebe turned around, smiling, then picked up the bottle. "Ah, what the hell." She took a shot glass down from the cupboard.

"Okay, if you're gonna drink it straight I might judge you a little bit," Wendy joked, crinkling her face in distaste.

"Judge away," her friend shrugged, filling the glass and throwing it back expertly then making a face of her own. "Bleh! God, that was terrible." She poured another.

"Alright alright, take it easy champ," Wendy chuckled, taking the bottle. "Save some for the actual party, huh?"

Bebe frowned at her friend but there was no real anger behind it. She insolently took the shot, then sighed. "Fine," she whined, "but if I cut off Kenny's dick because I'm not drunk enough to laugh it off when he tries to grope one of my tits, his dick-blood will be on your hands," she cautioned. "His dick-blood, your hands," she emphasized.

"I think I'll be able to live with the crippling guilt," Wendy said rolling her eyes. "Come on, lets go. We'd better walk there because there's no way in hell either one of us will be okay to drive home tonight so we should get a move on."

**...**

Craig and Clyde were seated in the living room drinking when doorbell rang at exactly 9 o'clock. "I'll get it," Clyde offered, probably worried that if Craig answered the door, whoever it was would run off in fear.

Craig sneered to himself. "What kind of fucking melvin shows up right when the party starts?"

"Hey there, Clyde," Butters' cheery voice called from the front entrance. Craig groaned. _Of course. _He heard Clyde saying something in a low tone, probably telling Butters not to mention Craig's having gotten fired. _As if he cared. _He took a large gulp from his cup just as Butters appeared in the living room, wearing an obnoxiously yellow knit sweater. "Uh, hey Craig," he said nervously. "You look very n-nice this evening."

"You look like Big Bird fucked a chihuahua," he snorted taking another gulp of his drink.

"Craig, behave yourself," muttered Clyde before turning to Butters. "You can come into the kitchen, man. I'll get you a cup so you can make yourself a drink."

"Oh no, uh t-thats okay," he declined, holding up what could now be determined as a case of wine coolers. Craig rolled his eyes. _Butters would._

Clyde looked afraid on his behalf that Craig would make a comment, but thankfully, the doorbell chose that moment to ring again, cutting off what would probably have been a very harsh insult to Butters' masculinity.

"I'll get it," Clyde offered again, probably unnecessarily, because it wasn't like Craig was going to.

"Hey!" That was Kyle, Craig gathered, which meant Stan was also there.

"Hey, man!" _Yup, there he was. _Craig took another sip. He decided to play this very fitting drinking game with himself: every time someone arrives, drink.

"Hey guys, come on in," Clyde welcomed, ushering them into the living room where Craig and Butters were seated. Craig nodded to acknowledge their presence, before rising to replenish his near empty cup.

Within the next half hour, the room filled up with the many graduates of South Park High. Red and Token were the next to arrive, Tweek in tow, Cartman (_unfortunately_) was there, Heidi and Milly were standing in a corner gossiping, Gary was there (_Why the fuck was Gary here. He was a Mormon, he didn't even drink_), Jimmy and Timmy had just arrived and were talking to Kenny who looked high off his ass (_obviously_). He saw that Sally had gone into the kitchen earlier with Lola so he consciously stayed out in the living room to avoid her. They had never really been friends, there was just Prom night, her hasty exit in the morning and then after that they more or less steered clear of each other, which wasn't difficult given the fact that they had all graduated now. He absently wondered where Bebe was. It was almost 9:45 now, and she still hadn't shown up. Clyde had probably not even noticed yet, he was so busy running around playing host to the people that littered the apartment. As if on cue, the doorbell rang and moments later he heard the voices of Bebe and Wendy in the front hall. "Hey babe!" Clyde shouted happily, sounding more than a little drunk.

"Hey hon," he heard Bebe reply. Soon they appeared in the living room, Bebe carrying the cake they had baked. Wendy immediately went to find Stan, and Clyde appeared to be animatedly talking Bebe's ear off about how 'Cartman already ate half the snack food, the pig' and how 'Jimmy's already so drunk he's trying to dance with his crutches.' Bebe was laughing but Craig noticed her eyes had wandered over in his direction and she was looking at him with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking could be heard from the kitchen. Clyde groaned.

"Fuck! Give me a sec, babe. They're all animals! Fucking animals!" Clyde complained to Bebe quickly, taking the cake from her to put in the fridge, as he ran to see what had happened. She told him to take his time and drifted over to Craig, sitting next to him on the couch. She gently ushered Red and Token, who were cuddling beside him, over to the other end.

"Hey Craig," she said with a tight smile.

"Hey."

"Nice shirt."

"Nice dress."

"Thanks, I-" She began, but at that moment Kenny stumbled over and squeezed in between them, putting a long arm around each of their shoulders. He smelled like cheap beer and cheap weed. Craig threw the arm off immediately.

"Well hi there friends!" He slurred good-naturedly, ignoring Craig's apparent displeasure. _Curse the day he stopped wearing that stupid fucking parka and started actually talking comprehensibly to people._ "I like your dress too, Bebe," Kenny continued, "but I think it would look better on my bedroom floor." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She rolled her eyes at the terrible pick-up line and Craig glared at him, flipping him off. "Fuck off, Kenny, I'm with Clyde, in case you'd forgotten," she said, brushing off his arm.

"Hey, no! You've got me pegged all wrong," Kenny drawled innocently, giving her a wide eyed look, then adding with a wink, "Clyde can come too."

"Oh, gross!" Bebe cried. "There's no way in hell that I'm having a threesome with you!" _Fuck Wendy. _Bebe was definitely not drunk enough to deal with Kenny's creepy and weirdly well thought out advances right now.

He looked hurt. "Aw, come on why not?" He looked over at Craig. "Ohhhhh, I get it," he smiled slyly. "Craig's already _filling_ the position, huh?"

"NO!" Shouted Bebe and Craig in unison, horrified.

"It's fine, I totally get it!" Kenny continued quickly. "Craig's a good looking dude. I'd fuck him over me, too." Craig opened his mouth to say that he'd sooner throw himself in front of a bus than get anywhere near Kenny's (probably disease ridden) cock, but he was cut off. "Well, it was nice talking to you kids. I'm gonna go find a _willing _conquest. Horny I may be, but a rapist I am not," he said wisely, then looked back over at Bebe with a lewd smirk. "If you change your mind, though, you know where to find me."

"Yeah," scoffed Bebe, "Whatever godforsaken porn-filled hole you crawled out of, perv."

He blew her a kiss and headed into the kitchen. "Exactly! I love it when you talk dirty to me, Bebe. Later Craig!"

When he was gone, Bebe laughed uncomfortably and looked over at Craig. "Hopefully now that he's gotten that out of his system he'll leave me alone for the rest of the night."

Craig took a sip from his drink and nodded. "The nerve, thinking he could come over and proposition a threesome like that."

Bebe also drank. She wasn't completely drunk yet, but the mixture of rum and Sprite she had poured herself was going down somewhat easier with each sip and her face was getting warm. "Yeah, obviously you would be the clear choice for a threesome," she joked, maybe a little recklessly. Okay, perhaps she was getting drunker than she realized. Craig flushed and looked deep into the depths of his cup.

"Hey, babe!" Bebe looked up at Clyde who had returned and appeared (_thankfully_, she thought) not to have heard any of the conversation. "Fucking Gary the Mormon dropped a glass," he explained with exasperation, "and he's not even fucking drunk!" Clyde evidently was though. His face was rosy and he was slurring his words. He took the cup from Craig's hand, seeming to have lost his own and drank from it. Craig glared and snatched it back. "Whatever, I cleaned it up," Clyde said shaking his head and pulling Bebe off the couch. "Anyway I came over here because Stan and Wendy challenged us to beer pong and now we must go defend our honour!"

Bebe reluctantly allowed herself to be taken away from Craig but had to laugh. "If you took anything as seriously as you take beer pong you could probably solve world hunger, Clyde."

"More important things to do right now!" Clyde whooped, taking her hand and dragging her over to the table.

"I'll talk to you later, okay Craig?" She called softly over her shoulder. He nodded. He could see the game from where he was seated. Stan and Wendy had already set up cups and Stan was taking practice throws, getting nearly every one in. Tweek came over and sat next to Craig.

"Hey Tweek, happy birthday," Craig said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

"NNGH Thanks Craig," Tweek yelped, twitching an eye. "It was really cool of you to NNGH have me over."

Craig nodded and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "No problem, dude." The game was starting and a small crowd had gathered near the table. Now Craig had to strain his neck to see what was going on. "Hey, let's go watch the game, huh?" He asked, looking over at Tweek.

The boys got up and joined the group which was now roaring with excited shouts and cheers. Clyde went first, managing to miss the table completely. _Shit, he was pretty drunk, _thought Craig with a grimace, remembering his and Bebe's pact not to play babysitter to him tonight. "Air-ball!" Shouted Wendy delightedly, running to retrieve the ball. According to the rules, Bebe now lost her turn because Clyde had failed to make contact with either the cups or the table. She grumbled and passed the other ball to Stan, who threw it in a perfect arc, sinking it in the cup at the top of the triangle.

"BOO-YAH" He cried, returning Wendy's high five. "Your turn!" She threw her ball next, miraculously getting it in the next cup over.

"Oh shit!" She squealed excitedly, "Drink up, bitches."

Bebe groaned, downing the contents of her cup and shooting Clyde a dirty look. "You did this to me."

"Sorry babe!" Clyde apologized, drinking his cup as well, "You can go first next." Bebe took him up on this, sinking the ball in the middle cup. Craig couldn't help but notice the graceful way she moved when she threw the ball, red dress clinging to her body and wild curls flying around her head.

"Hah! Suck on that," she taunted somewhat less gracefully at Stan and Wendy, then handed the other ball to Clyde. "I love you hon, but if you mess this up I will ruin you." The crowd let out an ominous 'oooooh' at her words. Luckily for Clyde, however, he managed to get the ball in this time. Wendy and Stan drank. Both teams proved to be expert players, and despite Clyde's drunkenness, soon each couple was left with a single cup and the crowd was now shrieking with excitement.

"Let's make this a little more interesting!" Kenny shouted above the noise. "Whichever team loses has to do four shots of the winning team's choice!" The four players' faces drained of blood and they exchanged glances. The stakes were high.

"Yeah!" Cried Red in agreement.

"You guys are gonna get so fucked!" Laughed Cartman cruelly.

"That's a stupid idea, someone's going to get sick," protested Kyle, sounding motherly. "I will not clean up your vomit if you lose, Stan."

"Come on, do it or you're all pussies," slurred Kenny. The majority of the crowd voiced their support with cheers of "DO IT, DO IT, DO IT!"

Craig shrugged and sent Bebe a helpless but reassuring look and mouthed 'good luck.' She winced. It was Stan and Wendy's turn. A hush fell over the crowd as they watched in anticipation. Wendy took a deep breath and threw the ball, landing it perfectly in the cup with a loud _plop_. The crowd burst into cheers and groans, depending on who they were rooting for. "AHH, fuck!" Cried Clyde, tearing at his hair.

"Are we doing a redemption round?" Asked Bebe hopefully, biting her lip.

"NOOO!" The crowd shouted vindictively, laughing at her and Clyde's misfortune.

"Shit," she sighed, looking over at Clyde with a defeated smile. "This is all your fault for missing that first throw, you know."

"Hey I have to drink too," he pointed out sadly, reaching for the final cup.

"Well, pick our poison, I guess," Bebe called over to Wendy and Stan, taking two shot glasses from a side table.

"Up to you, Wends," Stan gestured, allowing her to make the decision.

Wendy smirked evilly, wielding a still fairly full bottle of vodka. Bebe and Clyde groaned. She poured them each a shot, then stood back. "All yours, losers!" The couple hesitantly threw back the shots.

"Oh my God, that is vile," complained Bebe, wiping her chin where some of the strong liquid had dribbled down. Clyde moved to lick the rest off of her face. "Gross!" She cried. "If you're gonna act like a dog I'll put you on a leash, hon."

"Round two!" Squealed Wendy triumphantly, pouring them another shot. They drank. Bebe had to plug her nose. "Three!" They drank. Clyde's face was turning red. "Four!" The crowd was cheering again. "YOU CAN DO IT!"

"I can't!" Bebe protested, putting the back of her wrist up to her mouth where the vodka was threatening to come back out. Wendy slid the shots over. Craig watched, a little worried about both of them, but he knew there was nothing he could do. House rules, they had to do whatever was agreed upon before the game ended. _Plus it was pretty fucking funny. _Bebe was swaying and had to hold the edge of the table to steady herself and Clyde was hiccuping like crazy. Craig himself was feeling fairly drunk, but he was nothing compared to those two.

"Do the damn shot already, you pussies!" Jeered Cartman.

Bebe and Clyde exchanged dismayed glances, then picked up the glasses, holding them to their lips. "C-c-c-c-c-c-come ooo-oon!" Shouted Jimmy with excitement. They drank.

"Uhhhhh," moaned Bebe. Her head was spinning and she couldn't really remember the last time she'd been this drunk. She probably would have trouble remembering _this time _in the morning, come to think of it. Clyde attempted to steady her but he was reeling just as much. She could hear their names being chanted but all she wanted was a minute of silence. "I'm gonna go get some fresh air, hon," she told Clyde, gesturing towards the balcony. He nodded. Stan was on his way over anyway with Kyle in tow, probably to rub in the fact that Clyde had lost. Bebe picked up her rum to save it from being drunk by someone else and went to the door. She rubbed her head, willing her eyes to focus but finding herself unable to concentrate on anything. She stepped out onto the balcony and into the frigid air that she was now too numb to process. Being this drunk was simultaneously awful and wonderful. She felt awful, sure, dizzy and a little sick. But she felt wonderful too, stupidly content without any real reason to be. It made no sense, but it never failed to happen when she drank this much and she had to admit she kind of liked it. She bent her head over the edge, nauseous, but enjoying the feeling of the wind through her hair until she heard the door slide open and then close behind her.

"You alright?" Craig asked, moving to stand beside her. "Want some water?"

"Please," she whimpered, clutching her stomach. He stepped back into the apartment and returned a few seconds later with a cup which she took and drank from gratefully.

"In your defence, it _was_ totally Clyde's fault that you lost."

"Yeah he was off his fucking game tonight," Bebe slurred with annoyance, frowning like a sulky child, "If I throw up because of this I'm gonna do it on his fucking pillow."

Craig laughed. "He deserves no less. I'll carry you there myself if I have to."

"You have some catching up to do, you know," she continued, gesturing at his still half-full cup. Craig had to work to understand her words which all seemed to melt together.

"Or maybe you just have some slowing down to do," he chuckled. "Keep drinking your water, okay?"

"What are you drinking?" Bebe asked, taking the cup from his hand and sniffing it. "Jack and Coke? Do a shot. It's not fair that I'm this wasted and you're not."

"Oh is that how it works?" Asked Craig quirking an eyebrow with amusement. "Are you trying to bring me down with you? I know we made an agreement not to take care of Clyde but I might have to end up taking care of both of you after that shit. And I won't be able to do it if my head is in the fucking toilet too."

"Here," Bebe ignored him, passing him what was left in her bottle of rum, "you can have some of mine. Do it or else!" She finished, trying to be menacing, but failing to do so between hiccups.

"You're drinking rum? What are you, a fucking pirate?" He scoffed. "You don't scare me, blonde-beard."

"C'monnnn pleeeeaasee?" Bebe pleaded, attempting a different approach, "I want you to let loose and have a good time for once. I'll make sure you have fun I promise." She pouted, turning puppy dog eyes on him.

"Ugh, fine," he said, grabbing the bottle from her hand and rolling his eyes. He took a quick swig, cringing at the taste. Rum was not exactly his cup of tea. Or his cup of liquor, rather.

"Yay!" She giggled excitedly, clapping her hands. "Do another one."

Craig gave her a skeptical look but took another drink, longer this time, then passed the bottle back to her. Shaking his head, as if that would rid his mouth of the taste.

**A/N**

**The next chapter continues literally right from this moment, it's just such a long segment I decided to split it into two. **


	7. All's Fair in Love and Beer Pong

Suddenly, the door opened again. They both turned.

"What's this?" Clyde slurred, coming out and closing the door behind him. He crossed his arms. "Craig, you hate rum." Craig wiped his mouth. He felt guilty but he wasn't entirely sure why. Clyde turned his attention to Bebe. He was not smiling. "We need to talk."

"Huh? What?" She furrowed her brows and defensively wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body, recognizing his sequence of words as trouble. "Why?"

"I was talking to Kyle," Clyde said pointedly.

"Okay?" She looked lost.

"He said his mom saw you at the grocery store yesterday with Craig."

"Yeah, we were buying ingredients for Tweek's cake. So what?" She was getting annoyed now. She was way too far gone to be dealing with Clyde's shit right now. As a matter of fact, she was so drunk she was pretty sure she could see two angry looking Clydes in front of her, both of them standing with their arms crossed. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

"She thought you guys were dating," Clyde spat, frowning deeply at her. "First of all, you'd better fucking tell me that isn't true, and then you'd better fucking tell me why she thought that in the first place!" Bebe opened her mouth but he interrupted her. "And second, what the fuck were you doing hanging out with him anyway? And what are you doing hanging out with him alone now?" His voice was growing louder and he pointed accusingly at Craig, who was now giving him an irked look, also seemingly not in the mood for his hysterics. "Why the fuck did _you_ lie to me about seeing Bebe yesterday, huh? You said she took you to work and that was it."

"I never said-"

"Yes you did!" Clyde was shouting now, but luckily the party goers were making too much noise and having too much fun to hear or see them through the glass.

"Clyde will you shut the fuck up for a minute?" Craig said, irritated. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning. I didn't say that she took me home after work and you never asked. Calm the fuck down."

"Clyde, hon," Bebe began, trying not to lose her temper and reaching to put an arm on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. She continued, speaking slowly and trying to be careful in her pronunciation, but the words still slurred together. _She was definitely too drunk for this._ "Craig and I aren't dating. That's crazy and you know it. I'm with you. After he told me he got fired I invited him to help me with the cake. That was it."

Clyde was far from convinced and his intoxicated state was worsening his already weak hold on his emotions. "Don't you dare lie to me!" He cried. He was breathing heavily and his face was beet red. "I can't fucking believe you!"

"Clyde," Bebe tried to interject, but he continued to rant on about how she had betrayed him.

"CLYDE!" Craig bellowed. Craig rarely bellowed and it seemed to shock both Clyde and Bebe into silence. Some of the people inside looked out onto the balcony curiously. "Fuck off, man. You drank too much and now you're behaving like a fucking dick. And coming from me, that should mean something. Leave her alone, alright? She didn't do anything wrong. Instead of turning into a jealous psychopath can you not just be happy that I'm finally getting along with someone, especially with someone that you care about? We're just friends. Hardly that. We only just hung out yesterday so calm the fuck down. I think you should go cool off somewhere."

Clyde was fuming. "Yes, Craig," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "it's nice that you're so quick to stand up for_ my_ girlfriend," he spat. "Fuck you guys. Fuck it," he slurred, storming back into the apartment, presumably to get another drink.

Bebe and Craig sat in silence for a few seconds. She broke the lull first. "I'm sorry," she began, but Craig cut her off.

"Dude, don't be. It's not your fault for fucks sake. I don't know how you deal with that shit 24/7."

"I -It's complicated," she sighed. "Let's go back in, it's fucking cold." They went back into the apartment, seating themselves on the couch then fell into silence. The party was in full swing now and there was laughter and happy shouting everywhere, but she was so drunk that it sounded as if it was coming from far away, like she was hearing it through a thick wall. Her vision was swimming and it was hard to tell the mass of moving bodies apart. Everything felt so surreal and strange. She knew she was swaying in her seat a little, but either didn't care or was unable to help it. She couldn't quite tell which. She thought she could make out the sight of Carman dancing with Butters and Jimmy, which would have been hilarious if she had been able to properly process what was happening. Wendy was across the room beside Stan, arguing with Kyle. Probably about politics or something. Stan looked bored. Sally Darson was sitting on Kenny's lap and Bebe spared a glance over to see if Craig's face betrayed any sort of reaction to this but he was staring stonily ahead, eyes seeming to not be focused on anything. There was music playing, but she didn't recognize it. She could only tell that she hated it.

"Ugh," Craig heard Bebe moan under her breath with a frown.

He looked over. "What?"

"This song," she replied. It was a terrible song. An obnoxious beat riddled with auto-tuned wails about something "going down" and someone "yelling timber" or some shit. Craig nodded in agreement. "Can we go to your room for a bit?" Bebe asked. "I need a break from the uh, festivities," she explained, glancing sidelong towards where Clyde now had his arm around Milly, apparently having gotten himself another drink. He was leaning in close and she was laughing. Craig followed her gaze until he saw them, then nodded again, rising.

Once they were in his room he shut the door and sat in the chair by his desk, motioning for Bebe to take a seat on the bed. She perched herself on the edge and put her head in her hands. Craig cleared his throat uneasily. "Are you okay?" She didn't answer. "Was that - did you guys break up?" He was suddenly very aware of the fact that the two of them were alone and she was sitting on his bed. _If only Clyde could see them now, _he thought wryly. That would give him something to scream about. The funny thing was that it was Clyde's own fault, too. He had driven Bebe into the very arms (so to speak) of the same person he'd irrationally accused her of cheating on him with.

She raised her head slightly to answer and her voice wavered. "I don't even know. Maybe. I just..." _Shit_. She was looking down at the floor but Craig could tell her eyes were welling up with tears that she was valiantly trying to fight off. Tears made Craig uncomfortable. Waterworks were not his specialty, particularly when they came from a pretty girl and not just a drunken Clyde. "There there," he mumbled awkwardly, hating that the monotone sound of his voice made him sound both annoyed and insincere.

Bebe took a deep breath, looking small. "Sorry. Shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't unload this on you." She hung her head again, rubbing her eyes as if trying to force the tears that were gathering back into her eyes. _Fuck._

"No, no it's fine," he assured her quickly. "Look, I um, have some weed if you want. Or we could like... talk? Or you could talk and I could listen or something. If you want. I don't know…" He trailed off. _Eloquent, _thought Craig, inwardly rolling his eyes. _Real fucking eloquent. _But Bebe seemed to brighten a little bit.

"Did you really just _volunteer_ to have an actual conversation with me? Like, I don't even have to force you into it?" She asked in mock surprise.

Craig raised the corner of his mouth. "Imagine that," he said sarcastically.

She sighed, as if deciding whether or not to take him up on his offer. Then, evidently not wanting to let the opportunity go to waste, blurted out louder than she'd intended, "I'm not happy with Clyde, okay? Like at all." She didn't realize how strongly she felt this way until just now but it felt good to finally admit.

_You don't say, _Craig thought to himself sourly.

"I used to try to convince myself that I was but I'm not and it gets really fucking hard to keep lying to yourself after a while. I've been at this shit for too long and I don't know if I can do it anymore. But every time I try to end things he…" she paused. She couldn't very well tell Craig why she couldn't leave, could she? Clyde's disorder was his business to tell, not hers, and she knew for a fact he didn't want Craig to find out. "Every time I try to end things it doesn't work. I always feel too guilty and then I end up right back where I started and it's exhausting and I hate it and I'm so - I'm so," she groped for the right word. "I'm so fucking sad," she finished, her voice having grow soft and shaky by the end of the sentence. _Huh._ S_he really was sad. She'd felt many things because of her relationship with Clyde, but it was just now dawning on her that above all else, she just felt really fucking sad and really fucking alone. _

Craig was looking at her with a combination of confusion and what seemed to be a sort of sadness of his own. "I'm sorry," he said, looking back down at his feet, and somehow the way he said it made Bebe feel slightly better. "I wish I could do something," he mumbled, then added almost with frustration, "I don't see why you can't just fucking leave him."

She ran a hand through her hair and wiped the corners of her eyes. "Maybe one day I'll be able to explain it to you." He accepted this with a nod, not wanting to hound her for details if she wasn't ready to talk about what was going on yet. He fucking hated when people did that to him. But so help him if Clyde was in any way threatening her into staying with him, there would be hell to pay. "Hey, can I take you up on the pot?" She asked timidly, turning her head to the side. Craig allowed himself to smile and reached into his drawer for the pipe.

Bebe took in her surroundings while Craig packed them a bowl. The walls and bedspread were navy blue, the carpeting was grey and his walls were filled with posters for bands and movies, some she knew, most she did not. There was a Dark Side of the Moon poster, and some for stoner comedies like The Big Lebowski. She was more fascinated, however, by the way the walls were spinning than what was on them. It was strange how amplified the side effects of intoxication were when you were away from the distractions and noise of a party, sitting alone with another person in a quiet room.

"I'm so fucking wasted," she groaned, giggling a little. Hopefully the weed would mellow her out some. It was hot, too. She peeled off her cardigan, noticing that Craig looked up from what he was doing for a split second when he saw her movement, then quickly averted his eyes. It was almost mesmerizing to watch this long fingers break up the buds and arrange them carefully in the bowl. She smirked, wondering if her and Clyde _were_ in fact broken up or not. She tossed the cardigan aside and lay back on the bed with her arms out to the side, closing her eyes. She began singing softly, "I want to break freeee." Craig looked up from the pipe curiously and she kept singing. "I want to breeaaak free," He smiled. "I want to break free from your lies, you're so self satisfied, I don't neeeeeed youuuu," she looked over and laughed. She knew she sounded terrible but he looked amused. "I've got to break free!" He laughed too, and even joined in, even more softly than her: "God knoooows, God knows I want to break free!" Bebe considered singing the next verse about falling in love for the first time, but bit her tongue, not wanting to ruin the moment or make it awkward for him.

"Hang on, if we're making up an inspirational-get-out-of-your-bad-relationship playlist, I have just the thing." He set aside the now packed pipe and opened his laptop. Soon a familiar sounding drum beat filled Bebe's ears.

"Hey, I recognize this," she mused, sitting up and furrowing her brow. It was one of those songs they played in movies and on the radio all the time but no one could ever remember the name of.

_The problem is all inside your head  
She said to me  
The answer is easy if you  
Take it logically  
I'd like to help you in your struggle  
To be free  
There must be fifty ways  
To leave your lover_

Bebe chuckled. "Oh you shrewd man, you!" Craig grinned.

_She said it's really not my habit  
To intrude  
Furthermore, I hope my meaning  
Won't be lost or misconstrued  
But I'll repeat myself  
At the risk of being crude  
There must be fifty ways  
To leave your lover  
Fifty ways to leave your lover_

Then the chorus kicked in:

_You just slip out the back, Jack  
Make a new plan, Stan  
You don't need to be coy, Roy  
Just listen to me  
Hop on the bus, Gus  
You don't need to discuss much  
Just drop off the key, Lee  
And get yourself free_

They listened to the rest of the song, and every so often Craig would interject with an overly theatrical wagging finger, as if to say _'I hope you're taking notes on this.' _Bebe laughed when the song was over. "That was a great musical pep talk, Craig. Thanks for that." He nodded and put on a different song. Something psychedelic and spaced out sounding. She didn't recognize it but she liked it. He picked up the pipe and lighter, stretching to pass them across the room to her, then returning to his chair. She took them, but frowned a little. "You can sit with me, you know. I don't bite," she said cocking an eyebrow. Craig shrugged making his way over (a little apprehensively) and seating himself on the edge of the bed. He was careful not to look too long at the sight of her body in the red dress, sans cardigan, but the way she had draped herself over the bed was enticing, to say the least. His breathing had picked up just slightly and he wondered if she noticed.

"You go first," he said, motioning to the pipe in her hands as he opened the window a crack to avoid the smell from traveling back into the apartment and risking someone bursting through the door, wanting to share. The cold air felt good on his skin.

"Thanks." She smiled and lit it, inhaling deeply. She passed it to him and he did the same. They did this a few times in comfortable silence.

"How are you feeling?" He asked after a while, "Better?"

She nodded. The room was spinning less than it had been before, her nausea had subsided, and a peaceful tingling was spreading over her body. "Thanks for saving my night," she smiled, setting down the now ash-filled pipe on his night table and lying on her side. Craig studied the deep dip of her waist against the dim light that was coming in the window from a streetlamp then forced himself to turn away, still on the edge of the bed and now facing the wall. "What's wrong?" Bebe asked, sitting up.

"Nothing's wrong." His shoulders were hunched over and his elbows rested on his knees. His head was down in a fashion similar to how Bebe had been positioned earlier. _Ugh,_ he thought, _were they all just taking turns sulking, now? _

"Did I do something?" She asked, trying not to sound as distressed as she felt.

"No," he said quietly, then added, "I mean, kinda. But nothing bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind." He turned around and tried to smile, failing for the most part. "I'm just like, not used to this kind of shit."

"What kind of shit?" She asked, confused.

"You know, shit." He threw his hands up as if that explained anything.

"Shit?"

"Shit," he clarified, running an anxious hand through his hair. "Shit," he sighed, returning his head to his hands, but he could still see her in his mind's eye. She looked really fucking good on his bed. Alarmingly good. Her cheeks were pink from drinking and her eyes were glazed over and her chest was, to but it bluntly, practically spilling out the top of her red dress.

"Craig…"

"Oh for fuck's sake," he laughed sharply. "Clyde's contagious." Craig ran a hand through his hair. "He rubbed off on me and now_ I'm_ the one throwing a sissy fit. I'm just being stupid and drunk, never mind." She returned his laugh because it felt better to do that than acknowledge the growing tension in the room, increasing with every word left deliberately unsaid. The heavy jello-air was back and Craig's shoulders were broad and firm looking, slightly stretching the fabric of his blue shirt across his shoulder blades.

"Can I tell you something really embarrassing?" She suddenly asked.

Craig shrugged. "As long as you don't expect me to tell you something embarrassing back."

She smiled. "I had this huge crush on you when we were kids," she confided. Her tone was light, but the underlying meaning was less so. "I used to day dream about sending you one of those notes that said 'do you like me' with a 'yes' box and a 'no' box and you would send it back with the 'yes' box checked." _Oh God, that sounded silly now that she said it out loud. _She'd meant it to be an amusing anecdote to break the uneasy atmosphere, but Craig stared at her blankly and now she was pretty sure she'd made it worse.

"Oh."

"I mean don't worry, it's not like I stalked you or took your dirty tissues out of the garbage and built a shrine around them or anything," she joked, but as soon as she said this she realized that it in fact sounded like that was exactly what she had done, and was now trying to cover it up by being overly defensive. "Actually, though, I'm serious. I didn't… do that. It was more about admiration. That's what I was trying to explain in my bedroom yesterday. You're really fucking awesome and you don't even realize it."

Craig seemed to be stunned into silence at the revelation and Bebe wondered if this meant she should continue, or if she should quit while she was ahead. She opted for the former. It was kind of too late to stop now. "You know, I only first started dating Clyde in elementary school because he was friends with you, to be perfectly honest. I thought that I could use him to get to you. God, that sounds fucking awful," she muttered with a wry smile. "Don't think I'm a horrible person, I did grow to love him eventually. For a while." She couldn't really justify why she was allowing these words to come out of her mouth so she chalked it up to the alcohol and braved on. "He knows. Clyde, I mean. About the fact that I used to have a crush on you. That might be why he overreacted tonight." _That, and the fact that he had a Goddamn borderline personality disorder, _Bebe thought to herself, but she knew she couldn't say that out loud.

"Oh."

"Look, I'm sorry," she apologized hastily, taking in the perturbed look on his face. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this," she rambled on, unnerved by his reaction, "I just kind of wanted to get it off my chest. But that was selfish of me. I'm sorry. You didn't need to hear any of this. Shit."

"No," Craig said, shaking his head. "It's not that." She gave him a questioning look. He laughed bitterly. "I guess your plan didn't work, huh?" He joked, raising an eyebrow.

She chuckled, though nothing was really all that funny. "Guess not."

"I mean I was a fuck-wit back then, though. I still am, I guess. So it's probably on me, not you," he continued.

"Would you have?" She asked, "Y'know, it you weren't a fuck-wit?" They were getting more vague with each statement, but they both knew very well what they were talking about. The detached ambiguity just made it easier to go on.

"Maybe," Craig said softly. "Hard to say. I can't really imagine. I mean, I kind of grew up with you being…"

"Off limits?" She ventured.

"Yeah." He glanced over at her, and to his dismay, she looked sad. Even more so than earlier, if that was possible. She looked deflated. "I don't mean that I would never," he floundered, now having a slightly more hazy idea of what they were talking about. "You've been around Clyde and I pretty much my whole life." She was biting her lip, leaving it dark and swollen, wordlessly urging him to go on, but not to hurt her with what he said. "I didn't really let myself consider… anything." However, the fact that he counted her among the few people that he didn't hate made sense, in a way that spoke volumes about the reality of the situation. A reality he wasn't sure he was ready to admit to her or even himself.

She nodded in acceptance. "Thanks for not laughing at me."

Craig furrowed his brows. "I wouldn't fucking laugh at you over…" he paused, not sure what to call it. "…that," he finished. "God, why does everyone think I'm such a fucking monster?! Wait, don't answer that," he added with a dry laugh. He knew why. He was an asshole, plain and simple. And fate had decided long ago that the one girl who saw him as more than that would end up unhappily dating his best friend. _Apparently, the universe was an even bigger dick than he was._

"You know what the girls used to call you, back in middle school?" Bebe asked, giggling.

"Do I want to know?"

"No," Bebe said, but continued. "They called you Craig 'Unabomber' Tucker."

He looked dubious. "As in the fucking terrorist? I'm not that bad, am I?!"

"No," she laughed. "I don't think so. But you have to admit, you were always really good with math, and you were pretty antisocial, and you could grow facial hair before any of the other boys in our grade," she reasoned with a teasing smile.

"Well, when I rise to my inevitable calling of mailing bombs to people, as you seem think I'm likely to do, you're the first one on my list. Beware of any suspicious packages." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but he was smiling and squinting good-naturedly at her, glad the tension had dissipated.

She was about to reply when a knock sounded at the door. They exchanged anxious glances. _Not Clyde, oh God, please not Clyde._

"Bebe?" It was Wendy and her voice was wary. They exhaled a sigh of relief. "Hey, I saw you come in here. I uh -we're about to cut the cake and sing to Tweek if you guys wanna come join us."

"Alright!" She called, composing herself. "We'll be out in a sec!"

Craig moved to close the window and emptied the pipe then put it back into his drawer. "Brace yourself," he said, rolling his eyes. "Back to the world of the living we go."

She laughed at his dramatics and then sighed with disappointment. "Fuck."

**…**

Back in the living room, the festivities had in fact seemed to die down a little in their absence. It was almost 1 am, and most people appeared to have grown tired of drinking and dancing and were clustered in small groups, just talking or, in the case of the drunker ones, paired off and all over each other. "Okay, gather around everybody!" Wendy called, taking charge as usual and ushering people around the beer pong table which now held Tweek's coffee cake. The candles were lit and they sang, a horrible sounding chorus of drunken voices and cheers. Bebe scanned the crowd of people cautiously, noting the fact that both Clyde and Milly were not present. Tweek looked somewhat on the frightened side by all the noise and attention, but at the same time eager to dig in to the dessert. When the song ended, Wendy cut the cake, serving it the the guests on paper plates. When she passed Bebe and Craig theirs, she shot her friend a '_we'll talk about this later_' look. Bebe inwardly groaned, not looking forward to explaining what had happened in Craig's room. To be honest, _she_ wasn't even sure what had happened.

"It's good cake," Craig complimented her after taking a bite.

"You helped with it," she reminded him with a smile. He had a tiny bit of icing on his lip and she wanted to lick it off. She supposed that meant she had finally (after over a decade) stopped repressing and denying how she felt about him. _She wanted to lick him. Hah. That was one way to put it,_ she supposed. They moved to sit back down on the couch where they had been seated earlier, eating quietly and taking in the scene before them. It was always fun to observe the hilarious things drunk people did when they were too wasted to proces that anyone was watching. Red and Token were pressed up against a wall, grinding on each other despite the fact that there was no music playing, Gary was cleaning up Kenny, who had vomited down the front of his shirt and was now lying on the floor looking more dead than alive, while Kyle appeared to be lecturing him about the dangers of liver damage, despite the fact that his sage advice seemed to be falling on an unresponsive audience. By the looks of it, Kenny had managed to throw up on Sally too, who was trying in vain to wipe his stomach acid off her dress and Bebe felt a terrible pang of satisfaction. _That's what she gets for sleeping with Craig, _she thought cruelly, not caring that it was a completely unfair of her to feel this way. Meanwhile, Jimmy had cornered a very agitated looking Tweek and was telling him jokes, assuring him that he was a great audience. Cartman was still stuffing his himself with the cake, shovelling it into his mouth with his hands and smearing icing all over his face, moaning like he was getting sexual satisfaction out of it. _Gross. _Then again, this was also how he probably would have eaten sober. She scanned the room again, but there was still no sign of Clyde and Milly.

"Hi guys," Wendy said, coming over with Stan on her arm. "Great cake, Bebe." Stan nodded his agreement enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Craig helped," she replied, giving him a fond smile.

"Sorry that we totally kicked your ass at beer pong," grinned Stan good-humouredly.

"Hey, all's fair in love and beer pong, right?" She shrugged, returning his grin, though she was not entirely convinced if there was any truth in her words. Things certainly weren't fair in love, and as for beer pong, well, she'd decide during tomorrow's hangover.

"That's the spirit," he said, affectionately ruffling her hair. She wondered what it would be like to have an emotionally stable boyfriend.

"Anyway, Bebe, I just came over to tell you that I'm gonna spend the night at Stan's," Wendy explained, "I'll text you tomorrow morning, okay? Take a cab home, I don't want you to walk back to the apartment alone at night."

Bebe nodded and winked. "Have a good time, you guys." Craig muttered his goodbye and the couple exited the room, leaving Bebe and Craig alone on the couch again. "Do you want some help cleaning up a bit?" She asked, surveying the mess of bottles and cups and plates that had accumulated in the apartment over the course of the evening.

"Nah, you don't have to do that."

"I want to."

"Alright."

The two of them walked around the room, collecting garbage from the surfaces of tables and the hands of those who had passed out, a majority that seemed to increase almost by the minute. Bebe got to work on the living room and Craig did his best with the kitchen. As Craig was stacking the cups from the counter, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Butters standing behind him, reeking of wine coolers and looking about as drunk as Craig had ever seen him. "What."

"Hey Craig," Butters slurred, giving him a shy smile. Evidently he was so drunk that he had stopped stuttering. "Clyde told me not to mention it or nothin' but I wanted to tell you I'm sorry you got fired. I know you think I'm annoying 'n stuff but I really liked working with you."

Craig, to his surprise, found himself reluctantly returning the smile. "Butters," he sighed, this was going to be tough. "Butters I'm sorry I yelled at you at work that day. I was only angry because what you were saying hit a bit too close to home, okay? And I'm only telling you this _now_ because I'm too fucking drunk to know any better. But if you spread it around I'll make you just as sorry that I said this as I'll be."

"Aww, Craig! I knew you weren't really all that mean," Butters cried happily, throwing his arms around Craig's waist in an eager hug.

"Butters you have exactly five seconds to detach yourself from me before I put a steak knife through your gut."

The blonde boy took a quick step back in fear, nodding that he understood. "Good," Craig said, brushing past him to continue cleaning up. When he had finally gotten rid of the worst of the mess, he joined Bebe back in the living room. She scanned the scene before her and chuckled at all the sleeping bodies. "You know it was a good party when it's only 1 and everyone's already passed out."

He nodded, but he wasn't looking around the room. "Yeah, it was a good party." His eyes were on her, and she blushed.

"I should probably head home," she admitted reluctantly, already feeling the next morning's headache creeping up on her.

Craig looked disappointed. "Wendy's right, you shouldn't go home in the dark. And I don't want you to waste money on a cab. Why don't you just sleep here? It wouldn't be… weird, or anything." _Weird, or suspicious if Clyde ever surfaced, _Craig thought."Everyone else seemed to make themselves right at home," he snorted and rolled his eyes, pointing to the passed out young people in his living room.

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Exactly, look at everyone. I'd have no where to sleep. Unless your bathtub is free?" She joked.

He frowned. "Yeah I guess you have a point." They had apparently reached an unspoken agreement that it would not do for her to try and find Clyde and sleep in his room. There had still been no sight of him or Milly, and neither Bebe nor Craig wanted to consider the possibility that perhaps even Clyde's bed wasn't exactly free at the moment. And Craig's was definitely out of the question. "Let me walk you home at least?" He offered, moving to get her coat from the stack on the chair in the corner.

She nodded and let him help her put it on. "Okay. Thanks."

He smiled. "Let me just go grab my jacket from my room." He went in for the jacket, but on his way out he saw a pad of paper on his desk and had an idea that he would probably regret in the morning, _but then again it wasn't morning yet, was it?_ He ripped off a small square of paper and scribbled something on it, putting it in his pocket and returning to Bebe in the living room.

**…**

The effects of the alcohol were starting to fade rapidly, and the cold winter wind and falling snow nipped at their skin the moment they stepped onto the street. "Shit! That's cold," Bebe shivered, unconsciously huddling closer to Craig. He wondered if he should risk putting his arm around her, but decided, _fuck it_. _It was cold. And they were still a little drunk. And she was sad. _

"We should do this again sometime," Craig suggested, though he sounded a little unsure of himself. "Only next time without all the extra people."

"You mean like hang out, just us?" Bebe clarified bluntly, raising a brow. The street lamps cast a golden glow over her face, illuminating her curls and reflecting off her light eyes.

He laughed. "Yeah."

"I'd like that. You know, if things with Clyde…" she trailed off.

"You're not his property. You can be friends with whoever you want." There was that word again: friends. It was like a safety net for them. Something to fall back on when things started to feel too intimate.

"Yeah, I know," she sighed.

"What's the deal with you guys, really?" Craig asked, looking her in the eye, silently imploring her to help him understand.

"I can't explain it. I mean I technically could, but I can't." She knew that would make no sense to him but it was the best she could do.

"He doesn't… hurt you, right?" Craig felt sick at the just thought, and he was almost positive that Clyde didn't have it in him to really hurt anyone, but he had to make sure.

"No!" She cried, quickly, shaking her head violently. "No, oh God no. Please don't think that. He just -he needs me." She finished lamely. She hated how narcissistic it sounded, but Craig actually seemed to understand this.

"Clyde is a needy guy, but you have to think about what you need too, you know." Bebe smiled at his almost word for word repetition of what Wendy had told her a few days ago. They reached her apartment soon and stopped in front of the front steps, looking at each other.

"You know, I really feel bad for the people who write you off as just an asshole, Craig," Bebe said sincerely, putting a timid hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. He seemed startled by her touch but he didn't flinch away. "They're really missing out." She studied his strong jawline and fullness of his lips, and the way his dark eyelashes rested on his cheeks when he looked down at the ground like he was doing now. He raised his eyes to meet hers, and they were looking into each other again, like they had done yesterday on her bed. "If -if things were different," she began, hand still searing his arm, "I'd ask you to come up with me."

He broke the eye contact and bitterly returned his eyes to the slushy pavement. "If things were different, I'd say yes." He awkwardly reached up and patted the hand that she still had on him.

Bebe tried not to moan at the simple contact and throw herself greedily into his touch. He appeared to be doing the same. His breathing was laboured and he removed his hand shakily. "Fuck," he laughed dryly, looking at her with pained eyes.

"Yeah," she agreed, adding her own laugh to the humourless sound, "fuck." Craig loved the way her lips looked when they formed that word. He wanted her to say it onto his skin, so he could feel them move. Then they were holding each other. He wasn't sure who had initiated it, it happened too fast to tell, but the next thing he knew she was pressed up against him with her hands on his back and his arms were around her. She buried her face in his the crook of his shoulder for what felt like entire minutes but had probably only been a few seconds. Her hair smelled like weed and something fruity and he wasn't sure if he'd ever smelled anything so wonderful. He felt a stirring in his crotch. _Apparently, hugging Bebe was enough to make him hard now. Lovely. _

He felt her head shift and couldn't be positive but he thought he felt her lips brush up against the skin of his neck. He shuddered. Every sensation was simultaneously electrifying and completely indistinguishable. She tightened her grasp on him, scrunching her fingers into the material of his jacket. The movement pulled her forward, causing her (_unwittingly?_) to press her lower half against his and he knew there was no way she wouldn't feel the bulge straining against his pants. But she didn't pull away. He thought he heard her sob and instinctively held her even closer, but when she finally pulled away, her eyes were dry. She released a shaky breath. "I really fucking want you to come up." Her voice was a desperate whisper.

"I know."

"Wendy's at Stans."

"I know."

"But we can't."

"I know." It was like a mantra.

"Goodnight, Craig," she sighed.

"Goodnight, Bebe."

She moved to walk up the stairs but he caught her arm. He'd almost forgotten. "Wait." She spun around. He took the folded piece of paper from his pocket it and pressed it into her hand, relishing the few moments that their skin touched. She shot him a questioning look but he shook his head with an unreadable smile, then turned and left. She watched his figure retreat down the sidewalk, and when he was out of sight glanced down at the paper in her hands. She unfolded it, choking out an anguished laugh at what was written on it.

_Do I like you:_

_X Yes _ No_

She stared at it, studying the curve of each letter that formed each word so that she could be sure of their meaning. She put the paper in her pocket and went in the door.

**A/N**

**I don't own any of the songs mentioned and shit blah blah blah**


	8. Sunlight

Craig stumbled through the living room in the morning, only half committed to not stepping on the passed out bodies that were sprawled out on the floor. He really had to pee. Pale blue light was coming in through the glass doors by the balcony and soon the sun would be coming up. _The sun. Sunlight._ Craig was not looking forward to that. His head was pounding as he lifted the toilet seat, beginning what felt like the longest piss of his life. When he was finally finished he opened the bathroom cupboard and helped himself to an Advil, then noting the fact that his eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his skull, decided to have another. He vaguely remembered the events that had unfolded the previous evening, and was fully aware that there was going to be a lot of shit to deal with, but he wasn't going to attempt to do anything until his headache went away.

He exited the bathroom and was just about to return to his room when he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see Milly sneaking out of Clyde's room wearing one of his sweaters and carrying her dress and a pair of shoes in her left hand. Her eyes widened guiltily when she caught sight of him. There were smears of make-up all over her face and her strawberry blonde hair stuck up in all directions. Craig just stared. She didn't seem to be all that in the mood for conversation either and she lowered her eyes, closing Clyde's door behind her quietly and heading to the front hall. She put on her shoes and stuffed the dress into her purse before turning back to face him with an uncomfortable look. "Great party," she said.

"Yeah."

"Later."

The door shut silently behind her and Craig shook his head. _Well, that answered the question about what Clyde had been up to all night, _he thought dryly. He re-entered his room and crawled back into bed, wrapping the blankets around himself tightly and hoping that the Advil would kick in soon. He wasn't positive, but he could swear Bebe's scent was still on his covers. The fruity scent, something like strawberries but not the fake, sickeningly sweet kind. Something more subtle. He inhaled deeply a few times before deciding that was really creepy and then dozing off again, sleeping fitfully for a few more hours.

Luckily, by the time he woke up to get some breakfast, most of the sleeping guests had cleared and only Butters remained passed out on the couch. Craig briefly thought to put a blanket over him, but the sun was up now and it was reflecting off the godawful yellow sweater and making Craig's eyes hurt so he reconsidered and shuffled into the kitchen. He was startled (though he really shouldn't have been) to see Clyde at the kitchen table, eating toaster waffles and chugging a glass of milk. He looked up from his food at the sound of Craig coming in and coloured. "Hey man," he muttered, subsequently shoving another bite of breakfast in his mouth.

"'Sup," Craig returned, setting about to make himself some coffee. The air was tense.

"Some night, huh?" Clyde tried cautiously, as if waiting to gauge Craig's mood before he ventured any further.

"Uh-huh."

"I can hardly remember what happened," Clyde said quickly, forcing a laugh. "I was so wasted, dude." Upon hearing those words, Craig loudly set the mug he was holding down and glared at his roommate.

"Don't try to feed me that bullshit."

"W-What do you mean?" Stammered Clyde, taken aback.

Craig shook his head angrily and filled the coffee filter, not caring that he was spilling coffee grounds all over the counter. "You know what you fucking did, Clyde," he spat. "I don't care how drunk you were, I know you can remember the fact that you accused Bebe and I of having a 'thing.'"

"Look, I-"

"And I'm pretty willing to bank on you remembering that Milly slept in your room last night," he continued, cutting Clyde off. "I saw her leave this morning and if you guys did anything other than sleep you'd better fucking tell Bebe or else I will."

Now Clyde rose from his chair, meeting Craig's angry tone and avoiding the insinuation. "Why are you so goddamn worried about _my_ girlfriend, huh Craig?!"

Craig threw his hands up in exasperation. "Because somebody fucking has to, you idiot! All you do is fuck her and then yell at her, fuck her and then yell at her! I don't know why she didn't get rid of you ages ago. Oh wait, yes I do, because you're a needy, manipulative shit-head!"

Suddenly, there was a shriek from the living room. Craig and Clyde, though still mad at each other, exchanged confused glances before rushing out to see what was going on. They were greeted by the sight of Butters, frantically scurrying around the room, appearing to be searching for something. "Dude, what's going on?" Asked Clyde dubiously, reaching out to grab the boy by his shoulder to steady him.

"Awww, geez!" Butters panicked, trying to pry himself free. "I was supposed to g-go home last night but I didn't and now I'm gonna be g-grounded!" He cried, "And I can't find my coat anywhere!"

Craig rolled his eyes. "Butters, calm the fuck down." He went to retrieve the coat from a nearby chair and tossed it over. "Now get out." Butters took the coat gratefully and rushed to the front hallway.

"Good luck with your parents!" Clyde called after him. He was answered by the slam of a door and then left in silence with Craig. He turned to face his roommate. "Is that really what you think of me?" He asked, growing somber. "Needy and manipulative?"

Craig sighed._ It was._ But he had to stop forgetting that he needed to tiptoe around Clyde's feelings. "You have to admit you can be a bit of handful. I talked to Bebe last night," Craig started carefully, "and before you start freaking the fuck out again," he continued quickly, noticing the look on Clyde's face, "let me explain. After you yelled at her and she saw you talking to Milly she asked if we could go to my room for a bit, you know, to get away from everything. We were talking and… she's like, I mean she's really not happy, man," Craig finished blandly, not wanting to give too much of the conversation away.

"She's plenty happy," Clyde dismissed with a scoff. "Why do you think she keeps coming back to me?"

"Because you don't give her a choice," Craig argued. "She thinks that you need her and you know what? She's right. You don't have a girlfriend, you have a fucking babysitter. Bebe is not your mother, Clyde. Stop trying to make her be." As soon as the words left his mouth Craig wished he could take them back. _Maybe that was really it, maybe the death of his mother manifested itself in how he clung to Bebe. _"Look dude, I didn't mean that…"

Clyde tried to look unaffected but his voice wavered. "That's a low blow, Craig."

"Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Whatever," Clyde muttered as he went into his room, closing the door loudly afterwards. Soon, Craig heard muffled crying. He sighed and went back into the kitchen to finish making coffee. He felt bad about bringing up Clyde's mom and he hadn't done it to be mean, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. Who knew if his friend was even in love with Bebe. It could be that she was just a female figure to fill the hole his mother's death had left, in which case, the soured relationship wasn't fair to either of them, and had no hope of improving. And where did that leave him? He supposed that after last night he had no choice but to come to terms with his feelings for Bebe. It was strange, the way they snuck up on him. Then again, feelings were always something of an abstract concept for Craig. They were hard to pin down. Sure, he'd spent years around Bebe and he never really minded her company. And in the last few years or so he'd gotten used to and maybe even enjoyed being around her, although he would have done anything to deny that to himself. He'd grown up pushing people away and always assuming the worst about their feelings for him. But that moment in the car with Bebe, when she'd told him that she liked him, she really seemed to mean it. Something in Craig had changed in that moment. He'd known her almost his whole life but because of Clyde and his own disregard for people in general, he had never even considered her in that light. He was aware of her good looks and charm, of course, but to him they had been meaningless. Or at least that was the case up until he knew he might actually have a chance.

Then again, even if Clyde had cheated on her, and even if that was enough to make her leave him for good, he couldn't very well allow himself to feel anything for his best friend's ex girlfriend, could he? Slowly, something was dawning on him though. He was starting to learn that when they were genuine, feelings weren't something a person had any control over. And that scared the shit out of him.

Craig shook the thoughts out of his head and realized that he had been standing in the kitchen staring at the wall for a good ten minutes. He gave up on getting himself breakfast. He had too much on his mind and making toast seemed like a somewhat trivial task at the moment. He glanced restlessly at the clock and saw that it was almost noon. Then, he did something very un-Craig-like, which was becoming more and more common of an occurrence. He got his jacket and before he could talk himself out of it, walked over to Bebe's. He walked quickly, forcing himself not to consider the weight of his actions until he was on the doorstep of her building and it was too late to turn back. He took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer for her room number. It rang for a few minutes before a voice crackled through the speaker.

"Hello?"

"Hey, uh - Wendy?" Craig asked recognizing her voice. He had not been anticipating this and his face flushed with sudden uncertainty. _What the fuck was he doing?_

"Craig?" Replied her bewildered voice.

"Yeah."

"Bebe wasn't expecting you. I'll buzz you up," she said.

**…**

Craig surveyed the empty apartment. "Where is she?"

"She's out," Wendy replied calmly. "Why don't you have a seat?" She suggested, motioning him into the dining room and pulling out a chair for him.

Craig followed her but remained standing. "What is this, _To Catch a Predator_ or something? He asked in annoyance. "How come you didn't tell me she was out before I came all the way up here?"

"Because I wanted to talked with you," she shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Craig began to back away. _What a terrible idea, _he mentally chided himself, _this was where acting impulsively got him._ "Craig relax, it's nothing bad. Just sit, please." He complied with a grumble and crossed his arms. He felt like he was in an interrogation room. "Thank you," she said with a smile, sitting across from him and began speaking sweetly. "Let's cut the crap, Craig. I spoke to Bebe this morning so you don't have to act like there's nothing going on between you two. Between you and me, I'm on your side with this. She was vague with me earlier and dodged most of my questions but I can piece together a pretty good idea of what happened last night." Craig opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off with a shake of her head. "Hang on, okay? Just let me finish what I have to say and then you can talk. I'm sure that by now you're aware of Clyde's problem and you know that his relationship with Bebe is on thin ice, but-"

"Clyde's problem?" Craig interrupted, furrowing his eyebrows. "What problem? The fact he's a big oversensitive baby?"

"His… the… wait, what?" Wendy sputtered, returning the confused expression. "You mean you _don't_ know?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Craig said. "What problem?"

"Oh fuck," she murmured. "Oh no."

"What problem?" Craig repeated, voice now rising. _What kind of problem did Clyde have that Wendy fucking Testaburger knew about and he didn't?_

"Shit, Bebe's going to kill me," Wendy muttered. "And Clyde's going to kill her. I thought she told you last night."

"Damnit, Wendy, told me what?!" Craig cried, losing his patience. He felt like an idiot, asking _Wendy_ of all people for information about someone who was supposed to be his best friend.

"Look, maybe you'd better go," she sighed. "Bebe went out for a walk to clear her head and then she said she was going to head over to your apartment to sort things out with Clyde. She's probably already there now, or if not she will be soon." Craig leapt up from the table without so much as a goodbye and ran to the door, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. His mind raced over the possibilities of what Wendy referred to only as 'Clyde's problem.' And he definitely didn't like the idea that Bebe was with him now 'sorting things out,' whatever that meant. _Were they getting back together? Breaking up? Fucking? Killing each other? _Craig didn't know if he was jealous or worried or angry. All he knew was that he needed to find out what was going on, and fast.

**…**

Craig heard the shouting before he even entered his apartment. He stood for a minute behind the door, listening to the familiar sounding yells from inside.

"I can't believe you, Clyde!" That was Bebe's voice.

"Milly and I only made out, okay? I thought we were broken up!" That was Clyde.

"_Were_ broken up? Or _are_ broken up?" Bebe snapped, "Because I'm hoping it's the latter," she said icily.

"Why? So you can go fuck Craig?" He growled back.

Craig heard Bebe gasp angrily. "How dare you! You of all people have no right to say that after what you just told me about you and Milly!"

"Look I was sad, okay? And I was lonely and Milly was there for me and you weren't." Now Clyde's voice came out less fierce, but defensive rather than apologetic. "You know how I get when I'm off my medication."

"You'd better fucking believe I do!" She shouted, seemingly unfazed by his change in tone. "And I'm also perfectly aware of how you use that shit as an excuse for every single mistake you make! How dare you say I wasn't there for you? I'm there for you _all the fucking time_! I've been there for you for the past miserable decade! But yet you turn everything around on me and make me into some kind of heartless monster! Well you know what? I'm not. You're the one with the problem and yeah, I used to want to help you but now your mental disease has started to control not just your life but mine and I'm done with your guilt tactics! You don't get to fuck with me anymore," she finished bitingly.

"You're a cold bitch," Clyde spat, tears evident in his voice. Craig had heard more than enough. He opened the door, and although he'd been listening to the harsh argument for a while, the scene still caught him a little off guard. Both Bebe and Clyde had red, puffy faces and looked like hell. Clyde was seated on the couch and Bebe stood accusingly in front of him, arms crossed. They both jerked their heads in Craig's direction at the sound of him coming in. "That's just fucking swell," Clyde growled violently, looking at his roommate. "That's exactly what this moment was missing. Craig Tucker, here to put moves on my girlfriend and call me a pussy. Wonderful."

"I'm not your girlfriend," Bebe snarled, "and I never will be again, you bastard."

Clyde ignored this, however and turned back to Craig, squinting at him. "How much did you hear?"

"A lot," Craig replied. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw worry briefly flash across Clyde's face before being replaced by malice once again. "Clyde, what's this 'problem' of yours everyone seems to know about but me?" He heard a sharp intake of breath from where Bebe was standing.

"What makes you think I have a problem?" Clyde bluffed, "and even if I did, it would be none of your fucking business," He muttered, looking away.

"It's absolute my business, you moron. I've known you since grade school and I have to hear about some big mysterious problem of yours from Wendy? And then Bebe called it a mental disease? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He fumed, tired of all the secrecy.

"When were you talking to Wendy?" Bebe cut in, glancing over at him with thinly veiled curiosity.

"This morning. I went over to find you."

Clyde snorted. "Of course you did."

"Clyde, tell me what's going on right now," Craig ordered flatly, disregarding the jab.

His roommate, however, turned angrily to Bebe. "Why the fuck does Wendy know?!"

Bebe looked almost sorry at that. "I… I had to talk to someone, okay? It was really weighing on me," she said in self defence.

"I can't believe you told Wendy!" Clyde cried. "I bet that means Stan knows too! And if Stan knows, then Kyle does for sure! Don't you see what you did? How could you be so fucking stupid?!"

Craig had to resist the urge to hit Clyde. He tried to calm his voice, but it came out gruff and dangerous. "Clyde, don't talk to her that way. And tell me what's going on right now."

Clyde put his head in his hands and spoke bitterly. "I'm sick, alright you oblivious, self-centred fucker? I have a borderline personality disorder and I've had it for years. And all you've done is call me a pussy."

"What..." Craig muttered, taken aback. He shook his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

His roommate rose from the couch. "Why don't you get Bebe to tell you all about it. She's really fucking good at that," he growled, voice dripping with hostility. He went into his room and Craig exchanged glances with Bebe. She looked like she was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to scream.

"I never meant for any of this…" she quivered softly, running a hand through her curls. "Fuck, I-"

Clyde came back into the living room, this time wearing his coat and carrying a duffle bag. "I'm going to stay at Tokens. And maybe I'll go screw Milly later," he stated cruelly, glaring at Bebe. "You two selfish pieces of shit deserve each other. I hope you break each other's empty fucking hearts." With that, he exited the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

**A/N**

**I know it's a short chapter and I know it took ages for me to post but I'm still pretty busy with school right now so my apologies. **

**Thanks for the reviews!**


	9. Just Picture Kenny Fucking Your Grandma

"So let me get this straight," Craig started, shaking his head and trying to process what Bebe had just finished telling him, "Clyde has like, a legitimate disorder that makes him overreact about everything and that's why he's always either crying or walking on fucking sunshine?"

Bebe exhaled. "Yeah, pretty much. I think… he just feels things very strongly."

"Well why the_ fuck _didn't he tell me?" Craig demanded more harshly than he meant to. She sunk down onto the couch where Clyde had been sitting before, leaving Craig standing in front of her.

"He didn't think you would understand. I mean, you're kind of his polar opposite. He was afraid of what you would think of him," Bebe tried to explain, shrugging her shoulders. "He made me promise not to tell anyone. Only me and his dad were supposed to know. I guess I really fucked that up, huh?" She sighed.

"No, it's…" Craig began, sitting down beside her on the couch and looking at the floor. "I mean yeah, but it's understandable. That's heavy shit to carry by yourself."

"Do you think I'm a terrible person for being pissed off at him?"

"No."

They were quiet for a few minutes. Craig thought about all the times he'd called Clyde a pussy. Bebe thought about the note Craig gave her the night before. It was she who broke the silence. "So now what?"

"Shit, I don't know," he said.

"I really enjoyed spending time with you last night."

"Yeah."

"Is it cool with you if I don't leave just yet? I know things are weird," she coughed uncomfortably, "but I really don't think I can face Wendy right now," she finished with a half-hearted smile.

"No problem. She seemed kind of invested in the situation when I saw her this morning," Craig said quirking a brow.

"Hah," Bebe laughed, "I'm sure that's an understatement. She loves this kind of shit. She loves helping people, even if that just consists of nosing around in their business. She means well, anyway," Bebe sighed, shrugging her shoulders and readjusting herself on the couch so she was facing Craig. "So what were you coming over for in the first place?"

Craig shifted self-consciously. "Hadn't really thought it through, to be honest." She was looking at him earnestly, frizzy, slept on curls catching the afternoon light that was coming in through the balcony window. _How had he not noticed the shape of her lips before? _ Against his will, his eyes traveled downwards to her chest. _He'd noticed that before, that was for sure._

"Craig?"

"Huh?" He asked, jerking into the moment, blinking a few times. She was smiling.

"You know I like you, right? Like, I _like _like you." She shook her head, laughing inwardly. It all felt so pre-school.

"I guess," he replied, colouring.

"I have for a while," she reminded him, forcing herself to look him bravely in the eyes. He looked down, however, black hair falling over his face. She wanted to brush it away, but he was unpredictable. He looked tense, as if he might jump away or lash out at a moments notice. She had to remind herself that this was new territory for him. For both of them, actually. She knew little about this sort of thing outside of her relationship with Clyde.

"You too."

"What?"

Craig repeated, mumbling almost unintelligibly, "I like you too." He refused to meet her eyes. She smiled and nodded at him, but didn't reply. There wasn't a whole lot that could be said, after all. Though she and Clyde were definitively broken up, she still couldn't be sure where that left her and Craig. All she knew was that she wanted him but had no idea if she could have him. "Do you want to watch a movie or something?" He asked, "I have Netflix."

**… **

"I still can't believe this was your first time watching _The Matrix_," Craig said as the credits rolled across the screen. They were sitting on his bed with an empty pipe between them and the sky was just beginning to get dark. Bebe laughed.

"I always figured it was one of those dumb shooting movies," she defended herself. "You've made me see the light, Craig," she said dramatically. "And you even lent me these sweatpants so I could be comfortable," she added, motioning to the grey pants she was wearing. "I am forever in your debt."

"Can you get me a glass of water then?" He asked, "Cotton mouth," he explained, motioning to the pipe.

Bebe scowled at him but rose from the bed. "Anything else, your highness?"

"Nope," he grinned. She rolled her eyes but soon returned carrying two cups. She handed one to him and sat back down. "Thanks."

"Any time."

"I'll remember that whenever I'm thirsty in the middle of the night and don't feel like leaving my bed," he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up," she laughed, "You know what I meant. Don't be a dick."

"It's the only way I know how to be," he replied with a shrug, reclining on the bed.

"I'm just kidding. You're not a dick."

"Not to you."

"Right, and that's all that matters," she assured him with a playful smile, nudging him gently on the shoulder before becoming serious. "I don't think that deep down you're a bad person, Craig. So you don't relate to a lot of people, so what?" He looked unconvinced. "So what if you'd rather sit in your room on the weekends smoking weed and watching Red Racer?" He smiled a little so she continued. "Who cares if you have the temperament of a bitter 80 year old man and people are genuinely afraid that you're going to yank their heads off if they break one of your many rules of how they should behave."

Now he frowned and interjected, "Lots of people aren't too big on that, believe it or not."

"Guess what, though?" She asked, lying down beside him and ignoring his words, "I think it's kind of fucking awesome, so there."

"And your opinion is the one that matters, right?" He asked sarcastically but without malice.

"Bingo," she smiled. "And you know what else?"

"What?"

"I'm secretly thrilled that you're mean and scary."

He shot her a confused glance. "How's that now?" He asked, scratching his head.

She looked embarrassed. "Well, if you weren't so goddamn terrifying to every hot girl you meet I'd have a lot more competition, get it?"

"No you wouldn't."

She blushed. "And why is that?"

"Don't make me spell it out," he groaned, not wanting to admit that Kate fucking Upton could knock on the door this very moment demanding to give him a blowjob and he would still turn her away if he had a chance with Bebe. "I don't like 'hot girls,'" he said. "I like girls who smoke weed with me and watch _The Matrix _on Saturday nights." He took hold of one of her curls and pulled it so it bounced back up. "And I like curls," he mumbled, then added, "God that was fucking lame."

Bebe laughed. "It was lame in the best way," she said tucking the curl behind her ear. "I've wanted this shit for so long, Craig. I didn't even admit it to myself until recently. I've wanted you for so long. Since I we were in fucking grade school."

"Pervy kid," Craig commented, scrunching up his face.

"Fuck you," she chuckled. "Like I said, if you _weren't terrifying_ you could get a lot of girls. But you are, so you can't. Therefore I'm the only one in your fan-club, so be nice."

"Oh yeah? Well who's in yours?" He smirked. "I can tell you it ain't Clyde."

She rolled her eyes. "I can tell _you_ I'm not in _his_ either. But God, don't talk about Clyde, please. Not right now. As for the Bebe fan-club, I guess it's just you. And maybe Kenny. But he doesn't count because I'm pretty sure he's got everyone on his dick-list, mothers and grandmothers included," she said, making a grossed out face.

"Awww, nasty," Craig scowled. "I definitely could have done without that mental image."

"Hah," she sneered, "from now on if you ever mention Clyde again in my presence I will fill your mind with such disturbing images you'll have to buy plastic sheets for all the puking you're gonna do. And that is both a threat and a promise."

His eyes widened. "Shit. I don't think you'll be able to do much worse than Kenny fucking someone's grandmother, though."

"What about your own grandmother?"

He made exaggerated gagging sounds. "Fuck Bebe, never mind. Sick."

She laughed. "Don't mess with my twisted imagination, Craig Tucker."

"Geez, I won't," he assured her, lifting up his hands in surrender. "You win."

"I usually do," she said arrogantly, winking at him.

"Usually, but not always."

"Huh?"

"Staring contest, go."

"Wha-"

"I said staring contest," Craig insisted. "No one has ever beat me. I have mad non-blinking stamina from all the TV I watch. Strengthens the retinas."

"I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of-"

"1, 2, 3, go."

"Ugh," Bebe groaned, but she complied, opening her eyes wide and willing them not to shut. Five seconds passed. Then ten, then fifteen. _Craig had really pretty eyes_. Twenty. _Craig had really pretty eyes, but hers were starting to burn_. Twenty five. "Hey Craig."

"What."

She snapped her fingers mere centimetres from his face. "Made you blink."

"Fuck you, that's cheating," he griped, shooting her a dirty look.

"No it's not, you never said I couldn't," she argued, sticking her tongue out. He really did bring out the child in her. Maybe it was because she'd first begun to have feelings for him when she was a kid. Maybe it was because he was such an old grouch she had to balance him out. Either way, she kind of liked it.

"It's against the rules. Everyone knows that," he frowned.

"Bite me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh you wanna fight, huh punk?!" There was mischief behind his eyes.

Bebe giggled. "I could take your scrawny ass," she scoffed, pouncing on him and pinning his shoulders down. With surprising strength, he pried himself free and flipped her over, holding her captive in a similar position. She struggled futilely beneath him. "What the hell, man," she frowned. "You're way stronger than you look."

"Do you surrender?" He growled with mock brutality.

"Over my dead body!" She cried theatrically. He leered at her and brought a finger up to his mouth, wetting it and then bringing it back down and positioning it near the entrance of her ear. She stared at him with disbelief. "Are you… are you really threatening to give me a wet willy? Jesus how old are you?"

"I'm 80 according to you, remember? If you don't think I'll do it you have nothing to worry about right?" He menacingly stroked her ear lobe and she could feel the moisture of the spit on his finger.

"Ahhhh! Gross! I surrender, I surrender!" She gave in with a shriek, wrenching herself away from his grasp. He let her go and smiled triumphantly.

"You're fucking crazy," she laughed, sinking back onto the bed beside him.

He wiped his finger on the bedspread. "You cheated. It was inexcusable."

She became serious. She knew he was talking about the staring contest, but she couldn't help thinking of Clyde. She had just been straddling Craig, for fucks sake. It had been a game, of course, but that didn't change the fact that she had just had her crotch pressed up against someone who wasn't Clyde. She'd never allowed herself to hook up with anyone when they'd been broken up over the years, but now that she knew it was for real (it had to be, she couldn't take it anymore), she supposed that she could technically get with whoever she wanted. _And she really wanted Craig_.

Craig must have noticed the change in her mood because he spoke up almost apologetically, "I was gonna do it, don't worry."

"What?"

"I wasn't actually gonna give you a wet willy. That's fucking gross for both of us."

"Oh," she laughed softly, "right." She didn't care about the wet willy, of course, She would have let Craig stick that slicked up finger anywhere. She-

"Everything alright?" He asked, studying her face.

"Yeah," she answered, giving him a reassuring smile. _Yeah,_ she thought sarcastically, _everything's perfectly fine. I was just thinking about you fingerbanging me, is all. And you would only be the first person to touch me that wasn't Clyde. Fuck. She was getting caught up in her own head. She had to say something. Now. _"You know I've only ever been with Clyde?" _Not better, _she groaned.

Craig looked genuinely shocked. "What? Really?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Just him."

"Not even when you guys were broken up?"

"Nope," she muttered, "never."

He furrowed his eyebrows and gave her a strange look. "But… I mean, you don't have to answer or anything, but why not? Clyde, uh, he wasn't exactly so loyal. When you were broken up, I mean."

Bebe shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't want to set him off if he ever found out, I guess." That, and the only other person she was really attracted to would have been out with him_ on_ the nights when they were broken up, taking him to strip clubs and trying to cheer him up. _You know, because he was his best fucking friend, and everything._

"But I mean, I guess you're broken up now, right? So…" Craig let his voice trail off. She could take that however she wanted.

She laughed nervously. "Yeah. It's almost kind of scary. I feel like I'm in uncharted waters."

"That makes the both of us," he shrugged. Bebe took a risk and reached out for his hand. It was clammy but she didn't care. He didn't pull away. "Professional sexual fuck up, at your service," he joked uneasily.

"Don't say that," she mumbled, inching closer to him. "Sally and… that other girl, they didn't care about you. They didn't deserve you." Craig could feel himself getting warm. Bebe was so near him that he could smell the strawberries again. Her light blue eyes peered up into his darker ones and he could hear that her breathing had become quicker and more laboured. His own was shaky. His skin prickled and he knew he was starting to sweat and he felt like he might throw up from nerves, but he wanted it. _Not just it, but her. _

"Are you okay?" She whispered, squeezing his hand and bringing her face near his. He nodded. "You look like you're freaking out, are you sure?" She persisted, giving him a concerned look.

"I- it's just-" He sputtered, hating himself for what he was about to do, "It's just Clyde."

Bebe jerked away, releasing his hand. "What about him?" She noticeably bristled, but tried to keep her voice calm.

"I just feel bad," he muttered, then saw her expression. "Shit, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything. You're not gonna talk about Kenny fucking my grandma now, are you?" He asked, forcing a smile and trying to lighten the mood.

She sighed. "Don't apologize. I know this is probably weird for you. I've had a while to come to terms with everything, I guess. Clyde, my feelings for you…" she looked sad. "I'm the one who should be apologizing."

"No, don't. Shit's just happening kind of fast. You guys were fighting a few hours ago. I don't-" He looked down, pained expression on his face. "I don't want this to be about Clyde. I don't want you to fuck me to get back at him."

Bebe gaped. "Is that… is that what you think this is?"

"I don't know, I mean, I guess not. Probably not."

"Craig." Bebe took his face in her hands, making him look her in the eye and began speaking seriously. "Keep in mind that I got with him in the first place, way back in grade fucking four, because I wanted to be able to hang out with you. I know you're not used to this kind of attention but believe me when I say I really fucking want this. For me. Not for Clyde." He nodded but averted his eyes. She sighed and reached for his hand. "Craig."

"What?"

"Look at me." He did. She took his hand and guided it to the waistband of her sweatpants, then brought it under the material, letting him feel that she was wet and looking him dead in the eye. "I want you."

He released a shuddering breath. "Okay." She inched her face closer to his. He let a hand go timidly behind her neck. They were breathing into each other's mouths, now, his hand still lying limp in her pants, his dick starting to harden in his.

"Craig, if you don't kiss me soon I swear I'll-" But with that he swallowed her lips up in his own, hungrily pressing himself onto her mouth and forcing her lips harder onto his own by pulling her neck towards him. She pulled back and released a bust of air. "Shit," she gasped.

"Sorry, I-" He took the hand from her pants and coloured, afraid he had done something wrong.

"No," she smiled, "that was a good 'shit.'"

"Hah, a 'good shit," he smirked, relived.

"Shut the fuck up," she groaned, silencing him with her mouth. Craig let out an embarrassing whimper and felt his hips move forward to meet hers against his own accordance. It was strange, being sober, being so aware of everything. Aware of her tongue sliding into his mouth, aware of his hands frantically grabbing at her flesh, aware of the tightening of his pants. He widened his legs slightly, past caring about stupid things like restraint and not appearing too eager. All he knew was that this felt impossibly good and Bebe seemed just as excited as him, if not more.

She took his invitation and grabbed him by the hips, pulling him so that he was on top of her, still dry humping feverishly and gasping at each contact. She trailed her mouth down his neck, sucking. It was salty and warm and he had just adjusted himself so that his crotch rubbed hers in just the right way and _shit_. She gasped into his skin then slid her hands up under his shirt, dragging her nails up the length of his torso. "There," she moaned, "_right there_. Don't move. So good."

Craig took the words of encouragement and quickened the pace and force of his groin grinding desperately into hers. Their hips rocked against each other and she tugged his shirt off, followed quickly by her own, and then their chests were plastered together with sweat, skin sticking and clinging with each thrust. Craig dipped his head down to her breasts, still imprisoned in a red bra, and pulled the flesh that spilled over the top of it into his mouth, eliciting throaty moans from her lips. Her noises nearly pushed him over the edge. His vision was getting spotty and he nuzzled his face into her hair, the sight of her lying half naked on his bed with her head thrown back proving to be almost too much to bear.

"Aww, Bebe, fuck," he growled when she flipped him over so that she was riding him, administering short thrusting movements that felt so good it almost hurt and were making him pant madly.

"You're so hard," she whispered huskily, leaning down to his ear and sucking on his lobe. "I can feel how fucking hard you are, pressing up against me."

"I'm gonna-" _Fuck, _he groaned_, Not already_. She rode him even more frenziedly, even more sporadically, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself.

"It's okay," she breathed. "Me too." He thrust up onto her, letting himself let go with a guttural growl, allowing his head to fall back and ruining his pants. She followed seconds after, pressing down on him with a loud, "_Fuck_!" and then falling exhaustedly onto his body.

They lay there for a few minutes without speaking, each trying to catch their breath. "Shit, I'm sorry," he muttered.

She lifted her face from where it had been resting in the crook of his neck and rolled off him, nestling into his side instead. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What? What for?"

"For coming in my pants," he spat out, turning red.

She laughed. "Is that all? You're fucking weird, Craig. I finished too, you know. That was amazing."

"You're just saying that."

Bebe shook her head and became serious, putting a hand on his face and making him look at her. "No, I'm not. I haven't came that hard in… all long time. And you weren't even inside me. That's saying something."

"Saying what?"

She leaned into his face, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "That I like you so much I can finish just from you humping me through your goddamn jeans." She put her head next to his on the pillow. "Stop beating yourself up over stupid shit. That was incredible, you're incredible, and if you ever apologize to me for something like that again I will bring back the mental image of Kenny fucking your grandma."

Craig brightened a little. "Hey, that's it! Next time I have to come I'll picture that. I'll last all night."

Bebe guffawed at that. "You should patent that idea. Brilliant." He put an arm around her and pulled her closer. "Sorry I'm so sexy I made you jizz in your pants," she teased.

"Sorry you like me so much you came in yours," he countered, sense of humour returning. "Actually, those are my pants too. I'm gonna have a hell of a load of laundry to do tomorrow."

She smiled, bringing a hand up to his chest and affectionately flicking his nipple. "Hey, is it cool if I stay over?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, pulling up the blankets and covering both of them. "You're not gonna…" he sighed, as if hating himself for what he was about to say but feeling the need to ask anyway. "You aren't going to sneak out in the middle of the night are you?"

Bebe licked up the length of his neck in answer. "You're crazy, Craig. Round two tomorrow?"

He half smiled and nodded. "God, yes."

**A/N**

**Thank you to Epicpenguin13 and AKA24601 for reviewing the last chapter!**

**Hope I didn't fuck this one up too bad, it was a little rushed since I wanted to upload something today because I have a hectic week coming up and feel bad that I'm updating as frequently as 'the eruptions of Vesuvius.'**

**School has been keeping me busy. **

**Thanks for reading, as always.**


End file.
